


Binding a Family

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daphne whump, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, POV Daphne Bridgerton, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Protective Anthony Bridgerton, Protective Older Brothers, Restraints, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: When Daphne goes missing, Simon goes to the Bridgerton family for assistance
Relationships: Anthony & Benedict & Colin & Daphne & Eloise & Francesca & Gregory & Hyacinth Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton & Daphne Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 216
Kudos: 326





	1. Missing in Action

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't get this idea out of my head, plus I adore Anthony being a good big brother

Simon had never ridden faster, not even on the day in which he was to duel Anthony. The streets were nothing more than a blur, hooves clattering as he pushed harder, ignoring the quell in his gut that came with using the whip once again. The Bridgerton household, even in the sunset, was a familiar site of London. Had it not been such a serious situation, he might have paused to take sight of the building, the stretching railings and the dwindling passers-by that halted in confusion as he tore past them.

His horse clattered to a stop, dismounting before the dust had settled. Someone called his title, perhaps the Lady Featherington that was standing on the pavement, with Marina Thompson by her side. It had been this morning that he’d read Lady Whistledown’s paper, had heard of the scandal that Colin Bridgerton had managed to get himself involved with.

It was not that, which had driven him to ride all the way from Clyvedon. Indeed, he figured his wife would have wanted to come, had she not…

He made it to the door, uncaring he looked like a madman as he hammered it down. His fists were already rough and raw, but the pain was a willing distraction as the door opened. Waiting was a virtue he did not have, shoving past the man in the doorway, the footman that he had no time for.

‘Anthony! Lady Violet!’ Was he drunk? He might be, just a tinge of alcohol that did nothing to take the worry that was gnawing at his stomach. The room was lit, the staircase quickly filling with the large family that was the Bridgertons. He’d always been jealous of such a thing, of how quickly they banded together. It was like they could understand each other without words, that their bond was far greater than anything he could understand.

It was Violet, that appeared first. Confusion, before being marred with worry, no doubt having come from the dayroom. Colin was in quick procession, eyes downcast and a slight wideness in his pupils that suggested that Simon was not the only one with alcohol in his body.

‘Your Grace…’ Violet began, before Anthony was coming down the stairs, looking behind him to the door. As always, his first concern was Daphne.

‘Have you come because of that Whistledown’s paper? Where’s Daphne?’ The name, the one he’d been shouting until he was hoarse, it had him stumbling forward into Anthony’s hands, holding him up as he tried to bite back a sob. Violet was ordering Hyacinth and Gregory to be gone, Eloise and Benedict had appeared in step, and wasn’t that what made it all worse? A family, so close, knitted together, and Simon had ruined it.

‘Hastings, what happened? Where’s Daphne?’ Repeated, fingers digging into his shoulders as he was shaken.

Simon knew what the words would do to a man like Anthony, even as he rose his head to meet his old friend’s gaze.

‘Daphne… she’s gone.’

**

‘Whatever it is you want, my Lord, I’m sure we can…’ She was quite unaccustomed to the pain that flared in her cheek, the way her head snapped to the side as the sound rang out across the room. A murmur came from the woman in the corner, the one that had helped Daphne stand after she had been bound. She was a plump lady, with calloused fingers and a nasty scar on her neck, but it was often hidden by the child that tucked his head into that space.

‘You are not a Duchess now, _Daphne_.’ She should never have taken that walk alone. It had been a foolish error, driven by anger for Simon’s constant lies. It was not his fault, in retrospect, that she had not been informed of how marital relations should work. Walking alone, even in a place as beautiful as the lands surrounding Clyvedon, had not been wise.

She’d seen the carriage, briefly recognised the colours worn by the footmen of Nigel Berbrooke, before something fine had pricked her in the side of her neck.

**

News did not take long to spread amongst the people of the Ton. By the time the law enforcement arrived at the Bridgerton household, the following day, people were already flocking to the streets outside. The Queen had sent a personal letter to Lady Violet, along with Lady Danbury turning up at the house that morning.

‘And you last saw her Grace when?’ The man repeated, for what had to be the eight time. He swallowed down the last remnants of the drink in his glass, looking to where Anthony was still pacing the room.

‘I saw her that morning, at breakfast.’

‘From reports of the household, and her maid, are we right to understand that Lady Hastings went walking alone that day?’ It was his fault, for lying to her. For presuming she had any idea about how the marriage bed should work.

‘I have repeated these words several times already.’ He growled out, tightening his fingers around the glass.

‘Yet you failed to mention the issues you and Daphne were having.’

‘Issues?’ Anthony cut in, sympathy being replaced by that feral beast that Simon knew resided within. He understood it, he did. If someone had hurt Daphne as he had, he’d have beaten them black and blue.

‘It did not seem relevant.’ He lied, noting that Lady Violet was sending Eloise from the room.

‘What issues?’ Anthony moved across, glaring down at him with the protective older-brother stance that always came when Daphne was mentioned.

‘Miss Rose explained that the Duchess was beside herself with sadness, and she was fearful her Lady was, in her words, heartbroken.’ The Inspector glanced between Anthony and Simon, while he tried to stop himself from breaking the tumbler in his hand. It shook under the stress he was placing, his mind whirring as he tried to think of where Daphne might have gone.

Did she run from him?

‘She didn’t run away.’ Benedict cut in smoothly, placing himself between Anthony and Simon like he could see the fight that was about to break out.

‘No?’ The Inspector looked to him, then to Violet, who dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

‘My daughter is many things, Inspector, but she would not flee from an argument. She’d have come here.’ That made something fierce burn in his stomach, knowing that Violet was right. Daphne would always trust her family, and they would always support her. He wished for such a life, for people he could trust so intimately. The closest he’d gotten to such a thing was Lady Danbury, also present in the room, but seated in the far corner.

‘Does Lady Hastings have anyone that might wish her harm? Anyone from before her marriage?’ The Queen had sent Lady Danbury, along with a generous amount of coin to fuel the investigation. Apparently, it would not look good for her if the Diamond of the Season was missing from London for too long.

‘Before her marriage? Half of the Ton envied her!’ Violet cried out, before Anthony looked to Simon.

‘What about Cressida?’ The woman that had lost the Prince’s attention because of Daphne?

‘She wouldn’t be so foolish, she has a Duchess for a friend.’ Lady Danbury inputted, both hands resting on her cane, immediately gaining the attention of the room.

‘Did Cressida have something against Lady Hastings?’ The Inspector was back to writing, scribbling down on the pad of paper like it would help.

‘It was sorted.’ Simon knew Violet was studying him, confused and hurt that all in the room seemed aware of what they were speaking of.

‘And you can think of nobody else that would have a grudge against her?’

‘My daughter has never hurt a fly, Inspector!’ Violet snapped, protective till the end.

Unfortunately, that statement wasn’t quite true.

Anthony dropped his own glass, right at the time where Simon came to the same conclusion.

‘Berbrooke.’

**

‘We lost a lot, when Nigel’s title was taken.’ Daphne hadn't known that would happen. She’d not even considered the Queen’s anger, the scandal that would cause tensions amongst the people of the Ton. Still, she stayed quiet, watching as the woman dabbed at her split lip with a care that was touching.

‘I did not realise my actions would have such consequences.’ She stated, studying Nigel’s illegitimate heir and his lover. The boy was called Thomas, according to Martha, and the two of them lived down in this cold stone room. Unlike Daphne, however, they were here out of choice.

‘How were you to know, your Grace? Nobody told you.’ She was reminded of the woman she’d met in the Village, informing her of the pig contest. Clearly, Daphne was not as experienced with the real world as she’d liked to have believed.

‘Why do you stay with a man like him?’ She questioned, wincing when the hands moved to her wrists, rubbed raw by the restraints around them.

‘I have to protect my son.’ She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and truly, Daphne could understand. Imagining her own perfect family, she would have done anything for her children. She’d do anything for her sisters and brothers, to keep them safe from scandal or harm.

‘I could keep you both safe.’ Daphne tried to argue, watching the fear cross the woman’s face.

‘You should keep your mouth shut, milady. He won’t take kindly to your rebellion.’

**

Lady Whistledown’s report on Daphne’s disappearance came on the eighth day of her absence. It was all the people of London could talk about, the vanishing act of a Duchess, and the missing Lord that nobody could find. His Mother had been taken in for questioning, but she appeared to have gone quite mad in the short weeks since the scandal was revealed.

Simon rose his head slowly, looking to where Anthony was finishing off what had to be his fifth whiskey.

‘What were you arguing about?’ To say he was surprised that it had taken the Bridgerton eight days to ask, was an understatement. None of the family had questioned Simon, offering him Daphne’s room and a servant to help him settle into the home, like he was one of them. He would eat dinner with them, would listen to Eloise’s theories and attend the meetings with the Inspector, while knowing Anthony was blaming him.

‘That’s been on the tip of your tongue for days.’ He drawled, looking over to his brother-in-law. Anthony’s gaze darkened, Benedict and Colin both straightening like they intended to break up the fight that was bound to happen.

They’d had a common cause, to begin with. Questioning the people of the Village, the staff at Clyvedon, asking the people of the Ton if they had any news on the whereabouts of Nigel Berbrooke. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the Inspector, or the Queen’s coin, but it was clear that the elite of society would only speak to each other.

When that common cause had slipped into more and more dead ends, the tensions between the two had been ramping up.

‘I want to know what you said to my sister.’ Anthony gritted out, forgetting entirely that Daphne’s other brothers were in the room. Well, all aside Gregory, who was far too young to attend.

‘It is our marriage.’

‘And my family!’ The glass was slammed to the table, thankfully unbreaking.

He studied his friend for a moment, the dark circles under his eyes, the grey-ish appearance of his skin. Sleep didn’t come easy to either of them, not when it was Daphne who was missing.

‘She is my wife, and I told you I would do my best to keep her safe.’

‘Quite clearly, your best was not enough.’ He didn’t even have time to make it from his chair before Benedict’s shoulder was ramming into his chest, arms shoving him back into the chair while Colin handled Anthony.

‘Both of you, enough!’

**

Thomas was crying. He did it quite often, sniffled sounds that haunted the darkness, but they were louder tonight. Daphne rolled onto her back, ignored the pain that flared up her side as she did so, moving her chained hands onto her stomach.

‘Your Mother will be back soon.’ She whispered into the night, praying she was not heard by anyone but the boy.

The grunting sounds from upstairs did not falter, so Daphne believed herself successful. The boy fell silent, and Daphne could almost convince herself that she was back in Clyvedon, or even London, protected by the four walls of her bedroom.

‘Why did Papa take you?’ Or not. In this cellar, in this room in the middle of nowhere, Daphne was not a Duchess. She was not even a Bridgerton.

‘To prove a point.’ Rolling to her side, the cold stone soothing her burning skin, she stretched a hand out over the empty space.

A moment later, fingers brushed over hers.

‘Who is Anthony?’ She knew she cried out, in her sleep. That her nightmares plagued her with visions of Nigel and the three other men that lived upstairs, in this shack in the country. Strange, she’d pictured the country as an idyllic lifestyle, perfect and quaint and _safe_.

‘My brother. He’s going to come for me.’ As would Simon, she was sure of it. They may have fought, but Simon was not so careless as to leave her in the hands of a man like Berbrooke. He’d been determined to stay by her side until he figured out if she was pregnant, following the revelations of his lie.

Anthony wouldn’t abandon her, no matter what had happened with Simon. They were the same, both the eldest of their gender in the Bridgerton household, with an understanding of what it meant to lead the family. Duty and responsibility, tied into a messy familial love. They may have fought before, argued constantly, but Anthony was her closest sibling by far. Not even Eloise had her trust, like Anthony did.

‘Before or after Papa kills you?’ Thomas whispered back to her, and Daphne ignored the tears burning behind her shut eyes.

**

‘Oh, my boy.’ Violet took his hand, guided him into the chair and snatched up the cloth that Eloise had been holding.

‘They’ve got no more leads.’ Anthony grunted, from where he was leaning against Daphne’s bedpost, watching as Violet began to dab at Simon’s face.

‘Something will be found.’ She stated, determined, and it wasn’t the first time Simon had wished to have her confidence. How could she pretend everything was fine, when Daphne had been missing for twenty-three days?

By now, her cycle should have come. It was a secret Simon had kept close to his chest, what had happened on the night before Daphne had vanished, but he could not keep it forever. Not when it burned inside him, wracked his stomach with the guilt that built up whenever he looked to the perfect family around him.

‘I must ask for your forgiveness, Violet.’ He caught her hand before it could reach for the bloody wound on the side of his head, the one that the Inspector himself had given him.

Violet halted, frowning down at him in confusion, before the worry turned to the motherly concern.

‘Simon, you have nothing to apologise…’

‘If it were not for me, Daphne would not have been walking by herself.’ Eloise was still in the room, and perhaps he should have waited, but he could not find it within himself to care. Not when the girl was probably as unsure as Daphne had been, with no idea of what married life was like.

‘I was not aware… I thought she understood, when we agreed to marry, that I would not give her children.’ Violet’s eyebrows reached her hairline, lips parting, while Anthony’s head snapped to him so violently that Simon suspected it hurt.

Colin had reached Eloise, guiding her towards the door, but she shrugged out from his grip to stare at Simon.

‘ _Would_ not?’ Anthony questioned, daring him to admit more than he was ready to.

Simon ignored his brother-in-law, just lowered his gaze away from Violet’s broken expression.

**

In the dark, London was often difficult to navigate. She saw it from the windows of Carriages, from the rhythmic plodding of horses, rather than her bare feet on dirt. The moon was high in the sky, lamps providing little light as she stumbled towards the higher end of the city. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d made it this far, only that her stomach was aching fiercely from a lack of food, or from the wounds that she was sure would require attention.

The horse that had been carrying her was probably wandering the streets, stained in blood that was not just hers, while Daphne continued her trek.

She just had to make it back to the Bridgerton household. She’d make it back to Simon, to Anthony, and they’d know what to do.

How funny, to think that the last time she was here, it had been her wedding day. She was ready to embrace married life, thinking it was the most important thing in her world. It was that singular point in her life, the one thing that mattered. How wrong she had been, how _naïve_ to think that she was reserved to such a thing.

Daphne wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

She pressed a hand to her tunic, eyeing up the way her pale skin turned red where she made contact. It had been bleeding for a while, but it would be nothing compared to the skin of her back, so she supposed she should be thankful for that.

Anthony hadn't come for her. Nor had Simon. Neither of them had found her, had rescued her like the heroes of her stories. There was no Knight to save the damsel in distress, just a woman who was alone, and afraid, and with more blood on her hands than she’d ever thought possible.

Gosh, if Lady Whistledown knew what had happened, the people of the Ton would never forgive her! She could have laughed, almost did, before arriving in front of the Bridgerton property and looking up to the vast space.

Once she stepped through those doors, there would be no way to go back, no way to hide from the fact she was no longer just Daphne, the Duchess of Hastings.


	2. Safe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne returns to London, but not all is well

‘Your Grace…’ Daphne heard the words, logically. She was perfectly capable of responding, had been raised to know her title, even if it had changed recently. Yet, as Rose spoke to her from the corner of the room, Daphne fought the urge to ignore her. She was already ignoring her Mother, knocking repeatedly on the door to the room, her sisters and Gregory with her.

‘Would you do me a favour, Rose?’ Daphne had chosen this room for a reason, mostly because it had an attached washroom. Her Mother’s Chambers also had one, with a beautiful bath, but Daphne was more focused on the showerhead that would be able to rid her of most of the blood.

‘Of course, Miss.’ Rose was looking at the floor, probably at the footprints that Daphne had left as she’d walked to her Chamber. Simon was staying here, the room smelt of him, along with his shirts scattered about.

‘Call me Daphne.’

‘Miss…’

‘For once, please. Daphne.’ She repeated it, firmer, looking up to the woman that had told her the truth.

Rose paused, before she nodded.

‘Daphne.’ Her name had been said in many ways before, like how her Mother was currently calling, but never like that. As an equal, perhaps, as a friend. Sympathetic, yet understanding, and Daphne had never been more thankful to have her.

‘I believe I might require a Doctor.’ Daphne turned back to the mirror, staring at herself in surprise. Was that really her?

‘Daphne, please open the door. The Duke will be back soon, we’ve sent word to him and your brothers…’ By morning, all of the Ton would know that Daphne had returned. She did not have long, to sort out her jumbled thoughts that were racing.

She didn’t want to see her Mother. She didn’t want to see Eloise, who spoke her name from the other side of the door.

‘I shall send for one.’ Rose was taking a step towards her, but Daphne narrowed her gaze. Not a command, a plea, to not come any closer.

‘Would you mind fetching me a pair of breeches, and perhaps a shirt? Thank you.’ She added, smiling up at her friend and watching Rose’s concern.

‘Daphne…’

‘I’m quite well, Rose. I shan’t disappear before you return.’ It was meant as a joke, but Rose’s eyes widened, and it was then that Daphne took note of the red-rimmed eyes. Perhaps her absence had been just as difficult for her friend as it had been for Daphne.

The door unlocked, but Rose was true to her word. She let none pass, and Daphne turned the key behind her as she left.

‘Daphne.’ Her Mother was on the other side of the door, could practically feel her hand against the wooden frame.

‘Would you let one of us in?’

She thought to how she looked, quite unlike the perfect daughter that Violet wanted.

No, she would not grant them access.

**

‘Your Grace!’ The footman came rushing in, drawing the attention of the other gentlemen in the room. Heads rose, Simon barely able to raise his head from where it had lolled to the back of the chair. Not drunk, just exhausted, unable to cope with the whole world watching him. Lady Danbury, the Queen, all of the Ton, he knew what they said about him. He knew the whispers, the fact that he couldn’t keep his wife safe.

‘What is it?’ Benedict questioned, making up for Anthony’s brooding silence, and Simon’s tied tongue. It had been a long time since he feared his stammer, but now…

‘It’s the Duchess.’ One simple phrase had the whole room silent, Anthony moving so quickly that he almost barrelled into the poor man.

‘Daphne?’

‘She’s at the Bridgerton household, my Lord.’

It seemed that everyone was at the Bridgerton household. The Featherington family were in the doorway, despite the fact it was the early hours of the morning. A carriage was outside, signalling that Lady Danbury had arrived. Another horse, one that looked to belong to a Doctor, and if Simon hadn’t been running before, he was now.

The crowd continued inside, with a flock of people outside Daphne’s room, including Violet. In fact, they were all outside.

‘Where is she?’ Anthony demanded, right at the time that Simon caught sight of Daphne’s maid approaching, a set of clothes in hand.

‘She won’t let anyone in.’ Violet whispered, hands clutching the doorframe as she tried knocking again. There was no reply from Daphne.

‘Then break down the damned door!’ Simon snapped, just as impatient as his brother-in-law to reach the woman inside.

‘I would not suggest that, your Grace. The Lady has had quite a shock, and it might be best if I could have a word with her?’ He was the Doctor, a man with ridiculously powdered hair but a kind-enough face.

‘That is my wife…’

‘My sister!’ Anthony cut in,

‘And my patient.’ The Doctor finalised, looking to the maid, who nodded her head. She approached the door warily, waiting for Violet to step away, before she knocked gently.

‘Daphne? May I come in?’ Simon frowned, if only because she’d addressed her by her name, but he heard footsteps on the other side.

‘Sorry, my Lady, she asked I call her by her name.’ The maid whispered, before turning her attention to the door.

‘Are you alone?’ It had been twenty-nine days since he’d last heard that voice, and despite the fact it was nothing more than a croaked statement, he recognised it well enough.

‘The Doctor is with me.’ Rose, _was that her name?,_ said calmly, looking to the Doctor.

The rest of them had no choice but to step back, Lady Danbury reaching for his arm while Violet did the same to Anthony.

As soon as the door opened, Rose was gone, the Doctor following her into the darkness.

**

Rose knew better than to make a sound, bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood as she looked into the washroom. The tiled floor was no longer white, instead stained a pale red as water continued to soak her Lady’s form, plastering what little clothing she had to her body.

‘I shall start with simple questions.’ The Doctor approached her like Daphne might flee, which Rose wanted to laugh at, until she saw her feet. Cuts littered them, torn nails and dirt embedded deeper than she thought possible.

When Humboldt had come running to her, to tell her that a woman that _resembled_ the Duchess was on the doorstep, Rose almost laughed. There was no _replicating_ Daphne Bridgerton, she was recognisable wherever she went.

She was incorrect on that statement. While her eyes were still blue, they lacked the shine that always caught the attention of a room. Her hair, that lovely, silky mane that Rose was so used to plaiting, was gone. Short, jagged edges fell to her shoulders, matted and with clumps missing. She was paler, if that was possible, her cheekbones too pronounced and bruising under her eyes. She’d presumed it lack of sleep, until she’d seen the other injuries.

‘Is the blood yours?’ It was a mess. Daphne cocked her head to the side, a gesture so typically _her_ , yet it made Rose’s heart crack.

‘I do not believe all of it is.’ She glanced to her arms, covered by the long shirt she was wearing, and then to her breeches.

Rose had a horrible feeling that shirt was supposed to be white.

‘My Lady…’

‘Daphne, please.’ The Doctor glanced to Rose, before turning back to the woman under the shower.

‘I must know if you are injured. Could we remove your shirt, with your maid’s assistance, so I can assess your injuries?’ Usually, such a thing would be preposterous. Even though she was married, for a man to see her uncovered…

Daphne stepped out from under the spray, moving across the floor like it didn’t hurt to walk on her feet, before reaching for one of the towels. The Doctor turned to look to the bed, before speaking up.

‘If you’d like to take a seat…’ It was at Rose’s gasp that he cut off, turning back to the Duchess.

Rose swallowed down her sickness, reached for Daphne without conscious thought of what she was doing. The girl had abandoned the shirt, wearing nothing but a light jump. Not quite a corset, looser, which the maid was thankful for, considering the bruising across the girl’s torso.

Her neck was by far the worst, stained a dark blue, but Rose continued her search. The bruises continued, splotches down to the neckline of the jump, continuing under it. Her arms were in a similar state, with bloodied bands of red around her wrists, like she’d been…

‘Were you restrained?’ The Doctor had recovered from whatever shock he’d had, reaching out to examine her left hand.

‘I believe they were manacles.’ Daphne responded, but her voice implied her mind was far from the room, instead floating where she could not be touched.

‘Miss…’ She began, then quickly remembered what her Lady had asked of her, ‘Daphne, would you like me to fetch someone? Lady Violet, perhaps, or the Duke…’

‘I’m quite alright, Rose.’ She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face,

‘Is my brother out there?’ It did not take a genius to work out which of her four brothers she was talking about, of course.

‘Lord Anthony? He is.’ They all were, she wanted to add, but refrained from doing so.

Daphne winced, but Rose was unsure if it was because of the name of her brother, or the fingers tracking around her neck.

‘Did he try and find me?’

It was not a joke. There was no jest behind her words, no amusement, she was asking for a truthful answer. It was as if she believed he had not, and that was enough for Rose to wobble, leaning back against the door while the Doctor guided Daphne to the bed, urging her to sit.

‘Every day, Daphne. They never stopped looking.’ The Duchess smiled, truly smiled, and Rose was caught by those expressive eyes.

But, just as quickly as it had come, it faded.

‘I will have to remove this, your… Daphne.’ The Doctor looked to Rose, and the maid forgot about her personal crisis, rushing to aid her Mistress.

**

Daphne liked white. It had been one of her favourite colours, especially after being noticed by the Queen in the colour. It suited her pale complexion, made her look like an Angel, her Mama said. A diamond, the beauty of the season, unparalleled in looks. Now, as she regarded herself in the mirror, such a comparison made her chuckle to herself.

Her wrists were wrapped in white, as was her stomach and chest, thanks to the extensive bruising and the lashes on her back. Scarred, that’s what the Doctor had said. A reminder, for the rest of her life, of what had happened because Daphne was naïve.

Her ankles had the same treatment as her wrists, and then the Doctor had paused, studying her thighs intently. The crescent shaped marks had cut the skin, caused blood to well up, dirt staining them. Not all of them were from her own hand, either, but that had been obvious from the size of some of them.

‘Apply this to your nails, it’ll prevent the infection. This for the wounds,’ He wasn’t really talking to her, anymore. Rose was making notes, dutifully listening to each instruction given, despite the fact that the sun was rising.

‘I have one more question, on a more personal topic.’ She’d expected this. Before she’d taken that fateful walk, back when she’d asked Rose for the truth, this was the topic she never understood. It was confusing, nobody had bothered to teach her something about her own body, but Martha had.

The name alone had sickness forming in her gut, the fear that she might bring up the little water and bread she had in her stomach all over the Doctor.

‘There is no chance I might be with child. My menses ended four days ago.’ Rose’s eyes widened, before she moved to Daphne’s side.

Was she supposed to feel sad about such a thing? She couldn’t imagine having children, not when she’d seen what they could do, the burden Martha had carried for so long.

‘Have you been eating?’

‘Water and bread, morning, noon and night.’ A frown crossed his face, before he was back to touching, this time at her neck. Her pulse, she realised, seeing as he was unable to take the one at her wrist.

‘Small amounts of food at the moment, nothing too rich. Absolutely no alcohol for the first week.’ Daphne watched as Rose reached for her hand, brushed a thumb over her swollen knuckles. The blood was gone, and she was left in the pair of breeches that her friend had brought her.

‘I’ll be back in a fortnight, but if there are any problems…’

‘We’ll send for you.’ Rose assured, standing to lead him to the door.

‘Daphne, we’ll get you dressed and presentable, for the Inspector will be here shortly.’ The Doctor was ushered out, Rose peering around the door like she was communicating with someone.

‘Are you sure you don’t want your brother with you?’ Did she? She’d missed all of them so greatly, so much that it ached.

She missed Simon.

‘Not quite yet, Rose.’ She answered, listening to the door shut, before the woman picked up a hairbrush.

‘Just like usual.’ The maid promised, with a genuine smile, and the girl returned it.

**

Anthony shot up from his chair, ignoring the frown his Mother sent him as he did so. The room was full, his siblings filling all available chairs, save for the one that Lady Danbury was seated in, while they waited for news.

The Doctor had left a half-hour earlier, with the promise that he would return if needed. When asked about what he had been called for, he’d assured them that precise instructions had been left with Daphne’s maid, Rose, who was the one that had just opened the door.

‘Rose,’ Violet began, before she fell silent.

None of them quite knew how to act, not when Daphne wanted to see none of them. Did she hate them, for not finding her sooner? He knew he should have done more to help her, to make sure she was truly happy with Simon. Explaining that she did not need to compromise, that he’d have protected her from any scandal that Cressida might have tried to cause… instead, he’d left her with no idea about marital life, and clearly their Mother had offered no insights into the matter.

‘Lord Anthony, her Grace is asking for you.’ Of all the things he’d expected Rose to say, that was not one of them. Simon’s eyes widened, Benedict coughed up the drink that was in his hand, and their Mother glanced to Anthony like he’d grown a second head.

Perhaps he had.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’ She kept her eyes on him, but it didn’t stop him from seeing the slight fear in her eyes, the tremble in her hands as she waited at the doorway.

Daphne wanted to see him.

‘Right. I… Mother, you’ll greet the Inspector?’ He didn’t wait for her answer, already at the door and following Rose up the staircase, trying not to panic as he did so.

‘Is she… hurt?’ Rose lingered at the door, before turning back to him.

‘She won’t speak of what happened, but I fear it was something dreadful.’ She shuddered as she spoke, which did nothing to quell the rising panic that came, before Rose knocked.

‘Daphne, we’re coming in.’ The door pushed open, the two stepping in, and Anthony halted.

The first thing that struck him was the scent of alcohol that had no doubt been used to disinfect filtering in, before he took note of the fire in the room. It was burning the remnants of bloody rags, which turned his stomach worse than the sight in front.

Daphne was perched on the bed, like she couldn’t quite convince herself to lie down. Her head rose, and Anthony was trapped staring into those expressive eyes. He’d always known Daphne could control entire households with her stare, but at that moment, it was more prominent than ever before. The pain, the terror in them was quite unseen before, nothing like the confidence she usually showed.

She looked sick. Sicker than he’d ever seen her, with dark bruises that made it look like she’d been in a fight, a split lip and hair that barely touched her shoulders. He’d never seen her dressed in breeches before, but as she stood, he realised that she had to have lost weight, with how tightly they were buckled at her waist. His breeches, he realised belatedly, rolled up at the ankles to reveal feet swaddled in cloth.

The tunic was lumpy, stuck in certain points where he could catch sight of white bandages beneath, around her chest and wrists.

When Rose had said something dreadful, part of him hoped it was just fear. Surely Daphne couldn’t actually be _hurt_ , he’d never have let that happen to his own sister.

‘Anthony.’ Daphne breathed out, with none of the annoyed fondness that usually laced her voice, but worry.

‘Daph.’ He took another step, noted the way her eyes darted to his hands, like she expected some form of harm from his movement. Rose turned to the door, probably to leave and given them privacy, but Daphne shook her head sharply.

‘Stay please, Rose.’ Please. Daphne, a woman raised to know that her maid would obey, was pleading with her.

‘Daphne.’ He repeated, this time taking another step, seeking out anything in those bright eyes.

This time, she didn’t tense up, copying his motion as she stood up.

‘I thought I’d never see you again.’ She whispered, lip trembling, eyes filling up with tears before they were blinked away as quickly as they had come.

What was he supposed to say to that?

‘We searched for you every day.’ Suddenly, it didn’t seem like enough. He’d not done enough, he hadn’t put enough effort into finding her. He’d drunk away his sorrows, waited for the Queen’s Guard to find something, for the Police to find something.

Daphne had been in pain, and Anthony had been picking fights with her husband.

‘I prayed you would find me.’ She added, finally crossing the space between them, before hesitantly reaching out.

Her hand was far too frail, calloused fingers – _when had that happened? ­_ – brushing over the backs of his knuckles, before linking with his own.

‘Daphne, what happened?’ He’d thought about saying those words in a hundred different ways, of how she might glare at him, or roll her eyes as he tried to be the protective big brother she’d never wanted.

He’d never, not in all his imagination, anticipated that she’d rush forward into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the love you guys are showing this fic! Another chapter coming tomorrow :)


	3. Inspector Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne tells the Inspector some of the truth, while Simon tries to make contact

Daphne took in the room, the many people gathered, lingering when Simon rose from his chair. He looked sick, as sick as she felt, his eyes taking her in and pausing on the breeches. Ignoring the others, she took a step away from Rose and Anthony, hesitantly smiling to her husband.

‘Simon.’ He recoiled, yet he was smiling right back at her, relieved perhaps?

‘Daphne.’ Hands stretched for her, which was strange, considering he could barely look at her on the morning she’d gone for a walk. It was out of duty that he was going to stay, in case she was with child, but that was no longer an issue that pertained to him.

She wasn’t stepping away because he was Simon. She was moving because she had no intention of ever letting someone dictate when she should be held, especially when she was not ready to do so.

‘Sweetheart,’ Violet rose out of her chair, and Eloise looked ready to join her, but Daphne was beginning to regret leaving the safety of her room. Anthony had understood, kept a distance between them until she closed it, just as Rose had done.

Subtly, or not so subtly because he was a Bridgerton and they did not do subtle, Anthony moved in front of her, yet still maintaining that space.

Impressive, for a brother that usually saw very little.

‘My Lord, the Inspector is here.’ Humboldt spoke up from the door, Daphne moving over to the seat that had been left empty. She took note that Lady Danbury, who she’d heard earlier, was no longer in the room.

Anthony nodded his head, both to Humboldt and to Simon, before following to where she’d sat down. He didn’t take the seat, it would mean they were quite close, and she was thankful for the cover he provided from their Mother’s gaze.

‘Send him in.’ She should have picked a cloak, or something to cover herself from the gaze of her family. Simon’s eyes were stuck on her neck, which was barely covered by the collar of Anthony’s shirt, like he could see the marks underneath it.

‘You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t wish.’ Anthony added, focused on the door like he would burn it down with his stare.

‘It is quite alright, brother dear.’

The Inspector was not what she expected. Quite a young gentleman, dressed in his tailored-fit clothing, a top-hat that made her smile slightly as he bowed his head to Simon, then to Anthony, inclining his head to Violet, before his attention focused on her. Perhaps he was quite young, given a case that could help prove himself, because the people of the Ton would want the very best. He was probably the son of a noble, someone with a title, but not a first-born.

‘Inspector Dawn, your Grace. Might I say how sorry I am that my investigation could not find…’ She was used to the nerves that came from people speaking to her, but for once, she was more uncomfortable than anything else.

‘There is no need for your apologies, Inspector.’ She cut in, wrapping her fingers into the hem of her shirt and trying to stop her foot from tapping on the floor. Martha had called in a nervous habit, and one that could be picked up on easily.

‘I have a couple of questions to ask, if you’re feeling ready.’ Was she? Daphne had no intention of telling them what had happened in the cellar, no intention of doing anything but ensuring that Martha was found.

‘Ask away.’ She tried her best for a smile, noted that Violet was pouring tea for the group. Gregory and Hyacinth were silent, for once, a thing that amused her to no end. Eloise had abandoned her book in favour of watching, sat between Colin and Benedict, who kept trying to meet her eye.

‘We presumed your captor to be Lord Berbrooke,’ The name sent a chill down her spine, remembering the man that it belonged to,

‘That is correct.’

‘But we could find no evidence of your location. Would you walk us through the events of the day you were taken?’

A cup was handed to her, Violet beaming down like it would fix everything. She wasn’t sure if she could stomach the liquid, so placed the saucer on the table to the side, thanking her Mother quietly.

‘I left Clyvedon that morning,’ Angry, heartbroken, ‘To enjoy the fresh air. The weather was lovely, you see.’ The Inspector jotted something down, eyes darting to Simon, and Daphne had to conclude that her husband had admitted to their argument.

‘You took the path to the meadows, yes?’ So they had tracked her, she thought, picking at a loose thread.

‘I did. It was up on the path to the Village that a Carriage drew up, and I recognised the footmen. I’m afraid I recall little of what happened after that, until I woke up in Lord Berbrooke’s property.’ Martha’s property, she reminded herself. A home that had belonged to her family, but her Father had died, and the place had been left to rot.

‘Do you know of the location?’

‘I could tell you of how I returned to London, I believe it may guide you in your search.’ She took the moment to reach for the tea, sipping it slowly, revelling in the warmth that came with it. The Inspector had picked up on the fact that she did not want to talk about the period in the middle, just how she had returned to the Bridgerton household.

‘In as much detail as you can, your Grace.’

‘It was daybreak when I managed to escape,’ By doing something unspeakable, ‘and from there I managed to reach a Village. The people were sleeping, but I admit I did not intend to wake anyone, instead,’ She paused, flicking her gaze to Anthony, before returning it to the Inspector, ‘I stole a horse.’

‘You stole a horse?’ Anthony cut in, and she shrugged.

‘I had to get back to you, to London I mean, and I was without shoes.’

‘And after you stole the horse, your Grace?’ She had been worried that she might be arrested for such a crime, the people in that town had so little, it hardly seemed fair to steal such a magnificent creature.

‘I asked a drunkard for directions to the fallen abbey, the one on the outskirts of London,’ He had stared at her like she was mad, but the site was well-enough known that he had pointed in the vague direction, ‘and he told me it was North. From there, it was a simple matter of using the sun to guide me.’ That piece of knowledge was gifted to her from Eloise, so she shot her sister a smile, before looking back to the Inspector.

‘How long was the ride?’

‘It took most of the day, at a steady canter. We reached London by nightfall, and I abandoned the horse, to save attention being drawn.’

‘Why would you not…’ Anthony began, but the Inspector cut him off.

‘A wise decision, your Grace.’

‘Anthony… I was not a Bridgerton. I was just a girl, with a stolen horse, and I hardly looked like I was one of the Ton.’ He frowned, but fell silent, letting Daphne turn back to Inspector Dawn.

‘From the information you’ve given, we’ll see if we can trace back…’

‘Did you find the horse?’ She cut in, willing her heart to stop beating so loudly.

‘The horse?’ The Inspector questioned, Daphne schooling her expression.

‘Yes, Inspector, the horse. Did you find him? I was quite worried.’ She had been, but mostly because of what she’d had to do.

‘A horse was picked up in the eastern town this morning, your Grace. He was taken to the nearest stables.’ She relaxed back into the seat, tried to hide her relief.

‘Could you describe the building for me?’

‘Of course. It was two stories, with a cellar underground, but the building would appear ruined from the outside. There’s little markers to point it out, it’s separated from the Village, you see.’

‘And it was just the two of you in this building?’ For a second, she thought her heart might shatter. That they could read her expression, her guilt.

‘No, no it was not.’ She paused, before looking back to the Inspector.

‘There was the Mistress of the household, a woman named Martha. She has a son, Thomas. Then there was Lord Berbrooke, and the three footmen that he had convinced to stay.’ Mistress of the household, that was not the title she deserved. She was so much more, a lifeline that Daphne could never hope to repay.

‘And you saw these people often?’

‘I was in a room with Martha and her son throughout my stay.’ Right until the end, Daphne thought, looking over to Anthony pleadingly.

He got the hint, moving to sit by her side, and she sneakily took his hand for comfort.

‘They did not leave with you?’ No, they most definitely had not.

‘I could not convince Martha to leave. She was fearful that… she worried her son would be hurt.’ She was sweating, heart racing, hand trembling as she clutched tighter at Anthony’s hand. Would he give her away? Could he tell that she was lying?

‘A report from the household opposite, from Lady Featherington,’ Violet huffed in annoyance, ‘States that you were spotted covered in blood, your Grace. Are you injured?’ She paused, knowing he could see that she was, but it was not his real question.

‘I’m afraid that when I tried to find suitable tack for the horse, I mistakenly cut the poor creature’s flank. Some of the blood was from that.’ She could feel her pulse, hammering through her as Anthony gripped her hand back, squeezing as the Inspector narrowed his eyes.

‘I see. Thank you, your Grace, for your cooperation. I have no more questions at the moment. We will aim to find Lord Berbrooke and bring him to justice.’ She sunk back, like the weight from her chest had gone, while Anthony quickly stood to show him to the door.

He’d believed her.

As soon as the Inspector was gone, Daphne was free to stand, hissing in pain as the wound at her side ached.

‘Daph?’

‘I would quite like to rest, if I am not needed.’ It was not a question, nor did Anthony try and stop her.

‘I’ll have your room made up…’

‘I’m going to the garden, for now. But I am quite alright with the guest Chambers, there is no need for Simon to have to move.’ She smiled to her brother, inclined her head to her husband, before rushing to Rose’s side and guiding her friend out from under the eyes of the Bridgerton household.

**

‘I can hear you thinking from here.’ She teased, so much like the Daphne that he’d fallen for, that he laughed. Her lips quirked into a smile, before she moved across on the bench to give him room to take a seat beside her.

The Bridgerton household was in chaos, with Daphne’s return and Anthony’s protectiveness, the confusion as to what had happened, and Simon. He stuck out like a sore thumb, staying in Chambers that belonged to his wife, yet it was clear she was in no mood for any contact with anyone. Not even Anthony had been able to coax her back from the gardens.

He knew why she’d asked for Anthony, over him. They were family, the eldest of the household matching the eldest daughter, both understanding their responsibilities. Plus, Anthony hadn't been the one to break her heart on the morning she’d gone walking.

‘I wish for you to know I have no intention of leaving you.’ Simon began, thinking back to the horrible things he’d said about waiting to learn whether she was with child.

‘If you want to leave, Simon, I cannot stop you.’ She paused, before her hand reached out, just like it had done in the dayroom with Anthony.

He accepted the touch.

‘But I want you to stay. I love you, Simon, and I realise now that I was… harsh with my words. It is not your fault I was not knowledgeable in certain aspects of our marriage.’ That wasn’t what he’d been expecting her to say, not at all, but he didn’t have time to argue with her, for she’d moved on.

‘Whenever you’re ready, if you ever are, I shall listen to the reasons behind your vow. But I married you for love, for the fact I am happy, _truly_ happy, with it being the two of us. You have always been enough.’ Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, fingers squeezing against his, and Simon could do nothing but stare at her.

She truly was incredible. She looked older, slightly frail in appearance, like one could simply snap her in half if they tried, but underneath her countenance, there was a determination that shone brightly. A confidence that always lay beneath, despite everything that she had been through.

‘I really cannot take your Chambers from you…’

‘Nonsense. I am more than happy to move to the Guest Chambers.’ With that, Daphne turned back to the garden, her hand retreating from his.

**

‘I wish to take dinner in my room, Rose, if you could inform my Mother?’ Rose nodded her head, left as quickly as she had come, leaving Daphne to look around the Guest Chambers.

She wanted to go to Simon, or to her Mother, or to Anthony. She wanted to be embraced, to be wrapped up, to forget everything that had happened over the past month. But she could do none of those things, not when her family’s reputation relied on her maintaining appearances.

It would not be long before they found Nigel Berbrooke, and with it, the potential scandal. Daphne hummed quietly, moving to the window and looking down upon the gardens, before her attention returned to the room.

The bed would be far too comfortable, too soft on the injuries, and she’d already decided she’d move the blankets to the far end of the room. Not until Rose had gone, of course. She didn’t need to worry the maid anymore than she already had.

‘Daphne? I’ve got your dinner.’ The plate was filled high, stacked with rich meats and vegetables that made her stomach twist angrily.

What would Martha and Thomas have given, to see such delicacies?

‘You don’t need to eat it all, Miss. I’ll hide the evidence.’ She could not even fault Rose for using her name, not when the maid winked at the end of the sentence, leaving Daphne to laugh.

‘Tell me everything I have missed. Has Whistledown been uncovered? Are my brothers well? Eloise?’ Rose took a seat, watching as Daphne brushed aside the meat and headed for the vegetables, the potatoes that she figured wouldn’t upset her stomach too much.

‘Well, Miss, there was quite the scandal with the Featherington household…’ This, she could do. Pretending that everything was okay, that she wasn’t broken, it was far too easy.

**

She woke in the night, gasping as her back arched off the floor, shirt sticking uncomfortably to her sweat-soaked skin. Sometime in the night, she’d rolled over, twisting the sheets around her as she tried to avoid the lashes on her back. Settling on her stomach, she looked across into the dark room, before shutting her eyes.

It wasn’t quiet. London never was, somehow there were always sounds. Whispers, murmurings that she could not ignore, despite the shut window. Still, if she focused on her heartbeat, she could pretend that she wasn’t here. That she was back in the cellar, reaching over in the darkness. Fingertips danced over soft carpet, rather than stone slabs, but she pushed harder, waiting.

If they were too loud, if they dared to make a sound, they would hear either Berbrooke or his men descend to the kitchen. Thomas would begin to sniffle, and Daphne would be able to do nothing but clutch at him, wishing that they would all be rescued.

Simon hadn't found her. Anthony hadn't come for her, protecting her from the man that he once promised her hand to.

Her legs rose to her chest, arms wrapping around as she bit off a sob, knowing that life was anything but as simple as she’d been led to believe.


	4. Whistledown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whistledown's paper, the Queen's letter, and a trip to the Modiste

It took Whistledown two days to publish her opinion on Daphne’s disappearance, highlighting the mysterious circumstances with which she returned to London. Reports of the horse, of the Inspector and the Doctor that had been seen visiting the Bridgerton household led to the rumours spreading quickly, so it was no surprise that the Queen’s invitation arrived later that day.

‘It is addressed directly to the Duchess, my Lady.’ Rose inclined her head to Violet, who stepped back and looked at Daphne.

She longed to speak to her Mother again, properly, but could not bring herself to do so just yet. It was not that she blamed her Mama for what had happened, but she did wish that she had told her the truth. Would the same happen to Eloise, Francesca and Hyacinth on their marriage-days? Would they know of what was expected, of how to behave?

Or, like her, did her Mama know so little of what actually happened in the real world?

She accepted the paper, breaking the seal and reading the note quickly. It was hardly unexpected, the Queen did hate to be left out of gossip, so it was only fair that she try and get ahead of Lady Whistledown.

‘I am to meet with the Queen the day after next.’ Rose paled, probably at the thought of having to accompany her, but Daphne knew that her Majesty would have her eyes solely on Daphne.

‘We must get you a new dress! The modiste is open, perhaps Madame Delacroix will be able to fit you in this afternoon.’ She meant well, truly, she did. But Daphne could think of nothing worse than being fitted for a new dress with her Mother by her side, winced at the very thought.

‘I shall take the Carriage. Might I ask for your company, brother?’ She glanced over to Benedict, who startled from his chair as her eyes focused on him.

‘Me?’ She could hardly point out he was having an intimate relationship with the woman, not when Mother was standing there.

‘I have things I’d like to discuss.’ It was quite unheard of, a male attending when her Mother or maid could do so, but she was fearful her temper might lash out if she went with Violet.

No, not her temper. She was afraid of her Mother’s opinion, of the worry and judgement, of making her slip back into the numbness that had come when they lost their Father.

‘Very well, we can leave after lunch, if that’s suitable?’ He was speaking softly, carefully, wary of the way she would react.

Daphne inclined her head, before taking leave from the room.

**

It was rather lucky that the Inspector arrived after Whistledown’s gossip, otherwise Daphne was sure that it would have been leaked around the Ton. Rose came to fetch her, dragging her back out of the room she had hidden away in for the past two days. If the maid noticed the pile of blankets under the dresser, she did not comment on such a thing, nor that the bed sheets were perfectly made.

The dayroom was occupied by Eloise, reading in one of the chairs, or at least pretending to. She rose her head when Daphne entered, smiling, albeit hesitantly. Benedict was over in the far recliner, Colin seated at the piano with Hyacinth and Gregory on his lap, and their Mother was perched opposite Eloise, needlework in hand. Simon was by her side, head jerking up, but his expression was genuinely happy to see her.

‘Daphne! Your brother has gone to fetch the Inspector.’ Tea was being poured by Mrs Wilson, while Rose took her place in the corner of the room.

She did not want to be alone, when the Inspector told her what she already knew. Simon was already seated with Violet, and although Anthony was not yet in the room, Benedict had space by his side. If he was surprised that she perched beside him, he didn’t say anything, just studied her for a moment. Maybe it was the way she was dressed, or the bruising that had yet to fade from her face, or the fact she could barely bring herself to smile at him, but he looked concerned.

The door opened once again, Inspector Dawn appearing in the room, his hat in hand. Anthony was behind him, startled when he spotted her beside Benedict.

‘Inspector Dawn, might I offer you some tea and biscuits?’ Violet gestured to the saucers, but the Inspector shook his head solemnly.

‘I thank you for the offer, Lady Violet, but I have come with news for her Grace.’ He lingered, looking to Gregory and Hyacinth briefly.

‘Unsuitable for younger ears, I’m afraid.’ Mrs Wilson got the hint, schooled the youngest Bridgertons from the room, while Eloise did her best to blend in with the furniture.

‘We found the property of Lord Berbrooke this morning, your Grace.’ Daphne forced her expression into one of shock, then relief, made sure that nobody but Benedict could see her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

‘Did you manage to arrest him?’ She questioned, voice coming out unwaveringly.

The Inspector paused, shifted uncomfortably as he adjusted his hold on his top-hat.

‘Unfortunately, Berbrooke had taken a knife to his own neck.’ Violet gasped, hot tea splashing onto her gown as her older brothers all made murmuring sounds of relief. Even Simon looked pleased, or perhaps frustrated, that he had not had the honour himself.

‘He killed himself?’ She asked quietly, felt her nails turn sticky as blood pricked to the surface of her skin.

‘Indeed, your Grace, but not before… We found the Mistress, and her son. The coroner reports the bodies probably died the day of your escape.’ Just a few more moments, a little more time, that was all she needed.

A deep breath in, thankful for the lack of corset to restrain her chest, before exhaling.

‘I think my sister will need time,’ Anthony began, voice blurring into a buzzing sound that reverberated in her head as she tried not to think of Martha and Thomas.

‘Thank you for coming, Inspector.’ Violet was standing, most of them were, but Daphne needed to be far away from the eyes of her Mother.

She managed to wait until the Inspector was gone, before abandoning the room, ignoring her Mama calling her name as she ran to the nearest enclosed space. It happened to be Anthony’s study, their Father’s study, opening the door and making it to the desk before gripping the sides of it, leaning over and almost swearing at the ache in her back.

‘… panicking, should we fetch…’

‘Shut the damned door!’

‘…struggling to breathe…’

Voices filtered in, and out, jumbled in her heavy breathing and the fact that her vision was blurred at the edges. Just as she feared her legs might give way, warm fingers wrapped around one of hands, snatching it up from the desk and turning her to face their owner. There was no other contact, save for the fact her hand was led to rest over a thumping heart, under the waistcoat. She would have protested, pointed out that her hands were bleeding from where her nails had dug in, but Benedict did not seem to care about that fact as he steadied her hand.

He knew that she did not wish to be held, simply waited for her to realise that she was the one in control. That knowledge, the fact that she was not being judged, led her to rest her head against his chest, forehead at the buttons of his waistcoat while she tried to steady her breathing.

‘Deep breaths.’ He murmured, the hand not over hers coming to rest on her shoulder. It was the lightest of touches, not putting any pressure, which she was thankful for.

‘Might I tell you a secret?’ She asked the room, already knowing it was just her brothers and Simon, whom she trusted.

‘Daphne, we are you brothers. Whatever it is, we will not judge.’ Anthony stated, then seemed to remember Simon was in the room.

The Duke was studying her, watching as she pulled back from Benedict’s hold, to look over at him.

‘You are as much a Bridgerton as I am a Hastings.’ She remarked, noted the smile that flickered across his lips.

‘Whatever you wish to say, it will stay between us. You have my word.’ His word, the very thing that Simon was so adamant on maintaining. Daphne tried to respond to his smile, but failed, mostly because the pain from her palms was beginning to stab through her panic.

It was Colin that reached for a cloth on the side, and the flask of alcohol that belonged to Anthony, before coming to her side. She offered out her hands, staying silent as he lightly held her wrist. If he thought anything of the existing bandages, he did not comment on it.

‘This might hurt.’ It did, but it was barely noticeable compared to her worry for her next words.

‘I knew that Martha and Thomas were dead.’ She did not mention Nigel, did not dare.

Colin stilled in cleaning her hands, head snapping up to look at her, and she met his gaze. Daring, defiant and confident, things she most definitely did not feel in this moment.

‘How?’ Anthony asked bluntly, while Benedict, Colin and Simon all scowled at him.

Daphne thought back to waking up, with sticky blood and a hand in hers, before shutting the thoughts down quickly.

‘They were dead before I left.’

**

‘So, brother, how are you and Madame Delacroix?’ Daphne adjusted the collar of her shirt, watching Benedict jump back in the Carriage, mouth opening as he tried to stumble out a denial of some sort.

‘How… how did you find out?’ In truth, Rose had told her, and Daphne was happy for her brother. He had a kind heart, and clearly would make her a very happy woman.

‘Sisters know everything.’ She teased, watching as they pulled up outside the modiste. Benedict laughed, stepping out of the Carriage first, before offering out his hand to her.

The modiste was empty. Whether that was because of Anthony’s pre-written letter to Madame Delacroix, or the fact that it was a period of waiting before the final event of the season, Daphne did not know. Nor did she particularly care, watching as Delacroix glanced to Anthony, before beckoning Daphne to the pedestal.

‘Now, c _her_ , what are you wanting today?’ Fingers brushed down the sleeve of her shirt, never quite touching skin, and Daphne looked at her reflection in the mirror.

‘I’m hoping you can make my current style suitable for the Queen.’ She stated firmly, ignoring the way that Benedict’s eyes widened, or Madame Delacroix’s shocked expression.

No lady of the Ton would dare approach the Queen in breeches and a shirt.

‘It would be thrilling challenge.’ The Frenchwoman stated, a slow smile crossing her face as she reached for her tapes.

‘I shall have to re-measure you.’

**

‘Mr Bridgerton!’ Benedict had been reading Lady Whistledown’s latest paper, when the voice of his lover filtered through the store. Anguished enough that he shot up, approaching the drawn curtain and halting.

‘Genevieve?’ There was no need to pretend he didn’t know her, not when his sister had pointed out their relationship in the Carriage. He wondered if she felt abandoned by the fact he’d been pursuing the owner of the modiste, when Daphne had been… well, when she’d been in the hands of Berbrooke.

‘I need a hand with her Grace.’ He pulled back the curtain, halting when he saw the sight in front.

Daphne looked far too pale, leaning heavily on Genevieve in just her breeches and a loose-fitting corset (no doubt it had a different name, that he was unaware of), but he could see the white bandages that were wrapped around her chest. Her neck was exposed, blue markings in the shape of fingerprints covering the skin, her arms the same mottled texture. At her wrists, further cloth was hiding what he knew would be more injuries.

‘Can you support her?’ Benedict nodded, but waited for Daphne’s confirmation before wrapping an arm around her waist, mindful of the way she tensed up as he did so.

‘Forgive me, I thought I was stronger.’ Daphne murmured, cheeks a dark red despite her otherwise white complexion.

‘There’s no need to apologise, _ma Cherie_.’ Genevieve looked terrified, standing behind Daphne, and he figured out why when her hand withdrew from Daphne’s waist, red.

‘Daph, I’m sure Gen’s got enough measurements to work with.’ Daphne mumbled something vague, let him lead her across to one of the chairs and perch down upon it. Then he found the source of blood, the bandage at her side.

‘I have some spare linen strips.’ His lover was gone, back in a flash with the scraps of cloth, just around the time that Daphne worked out she was bleeding.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t aware…’ Benedict noticed she trailed off as he approached, crouching down and staring at the corset.

‘I’ll send word to the Doctor.’ He nodded to Genevieve, before placing one of the linen strips to the edge of the bindings Daphne was wearing, watching as it stained red.

‘I think I might have broken one of my stitches.’ He hadn't even been aware that she _had_ stitches, otherwise he would never have let her come to the Modiste. Nor would Anthony or Simon, so clearly they were also in the dark as to the extent of her injuries.

‘I may have to loosen the laces slightly.’ He couldn’t help but feel like this was his fault, that he could have better protected her. Daphne worked so hard to maintain their family image, to be there for them, and yet… well, he’d let her marry Simon, just because of whatever happened in the garden.

‘Don’t hurt me.’ She whispered, before promptly passing out.

**

‘What in God’s name…’

‘Anthony!’

He ignored his Mother’s protest, staring at Benedict as he walked into the household, Daphne in his arms.

‘She’s alright, but the Doctor suggested rest.’ Simon took over, snatching Daphne from Benedict’s arms like he couldn’t bare to be apart from her, but the look of worry only increased once he had her in his arms.

‘Up to her Chambers.’ Anthony snapped, more than aware that the household were watching, that Gregory and Hyacinth had stopped playing on the stairs, that Penelope and Eloise had appeared from the dayroom.

Simon led the way, Colin and Benedict flanking either side, with Anthony halting only to assure their Mother that she would be able to see Daphne soon.

What had Violet done, that made Daphne so hesitant to see her?

Inside the Guest Chambers, Anthony was struck by the neatly-made bed, knowing that Daphne had not allowed her maid in since the night she was found. Ignoring that worry, he watched as Simon placed her down onto the sheets, Benedict pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.

‘What happened?’

‘She tore a stitch.’

‘Stitches?!’ He would later claim that the sound he made was a manly protest, rather than an undignified squawk.

‘She’s far lighter than she was.’ Simon murmured, his hand in hers, the guilt written all over his face.

Anthony did not need to think about how his best friend knew Daphne’s weight. Just because they were married, did not mean he ever had to _acknowledge_ that they were husband and wife.

‘What about the other bandages?’

‘Rose knows how to change them, apparently.’ Benedict perched at her other side, taking up her other hand, leaving Anthony to notice Colin was not at her bedside.

In fact, the youngest of them was at her dresser.

‘Colin?’

‘She’s not been sleeping in her bed.’ Anthony was about to laugh at the ridiculous statement, until his brother moved aside, revealing the mound of blankets underneath the dresser. A perfectly confined space, small and defendable, and Anthony did not want to know what drove her to hide.

‘We should let her sleep.’ He broke in, despite every urge in his body telling him he should stay, that he needed to keep her safe.

‘What of Mother? She’s desperate to speak to Daphne.’

‘Daph will talk when she’s ready.’ Benedict cut in, glaring at Colin, before his gaze turned protective as he once again looked down to his sister.

**

‘You gave me quite the fright, sweetheart.’ Daphne was tired. Her body ached, and the new bandages around her stomach were tight, making it difficult to breathe. She was sinking into the mattress on the bed, and trying to move from it just jostled her abdomen and back; not a helpful occurrence.

It did not stop her from forcing herself to sit up, looking to where Violet was standing in the doorway. Her Mama looked worried, hands clasped in front of her, eyes darting between Daphne’s stomach, and her gaze.

‘I apologise, Mama, it was not my intention to do so.’ It sounded all wrong, too formal, but it was the welcome her Mother needed to cross the room, perching on the edge of the bed.

‘I understand that you need time,’ Strangely, Daphne did not think time was going to change a lot, ‘But just know I am always here for you. You… you are my eldest daughter, Daphne, I would be lost without you.’ The hand took hers, just like so many people seemed to do, but this touch was different. Warmth, instantly soothing, and Daphne found herself tearing up despite every precaution she’d tried to put in place to stop it.

‘I missed you, Mama.’ She didn’t even complain when arms wrapped around her, pressing onto each of the bruises in a reminder of what she’d lost.

**

Simon got punched a lot. Most of the time, like now, it was from Will. The boxing ring was a place to work out frustrations, to forget how sick Daphne had looked when Benedict had carried her through the door. He hated to admit it, but in that moment… He thought he’d lost her. That something dreadful had happened, more dreadful than him having lost his own _wife_ for just under a month.

Will stepped back, drawing his hands down to his sides and ignoring the way Simon readied himself for another round.

‘We’re done for the day.’ He stated, effectively ending the match, leaving Simon craving at least one more hit.

The look his friend gave him told him he was being far too obvious in his motives.

‘The Inspector told me something else.’ Anthony had said to him, earlier that day, as they stood outside Daphne’s room. The four of them, aligned in a duty to protect Daphne from the people of the Ton, from any judgement or danger. To help the light return to her stunning eyes, the sparkle that Simon so sorely missed.

‘What did he say?’ Colin questioned, leaving Simon to look at the door to her room and wonder if she’d be angry if she woke with him by her side.

‘They found manacles. Chains, down in the room with the bodies.’

‘The bandages around her wrists.’ Benedict murmured quietly, sharing the truth between them.

It was why Simon had turned up at Will’s, demanding the fight that he so badly needed. Anything, to not think about Daphne being chained up like a prisoner, scared and alone, injured.

He would regain her trust, even if it took him a lifetime to do so. 


	5. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eloise features, as does the warm-milk incident.

‘Sister, I was not…’ Eloise startled, tried to hide the rising smoke, but Daphne merely chuckled.

‘You should not need to apologise to me, Eloise.’ It took effort to move to the other swing, dutifully tucking herself onto it and looking out into the darkness. She’d been unable to sleep, but from her window, she’d noticed her eldest sister down below.

‘You will not tell Mother?’ Did she think so little of her? She knew they were not the same, that Eloise had always had a mind that far advanced her own. Should she have taken better care with her words? To encourage her sister to challenge everything she was told?

‘Not if you let me try.’ She teased, eyeing up the cloud dubiously. Eloise blinked, glancing down to the roll between her fingers, then back to Daphne.

‘Have you tried it before?’ When Daphne shook her head, Eloise maintained a grip, but turned her fingers towards Daphne’s face. The elder of the two paused, before leaning in, figuring it could not be too difficult to figure out.

When she coughed up smoke, Eloise chuckled.

‘You are always so determined to be perfect, sister.’ The moment she said those words, Eloise’s face fell, like she realised how untrue they were. Daphne shrugged, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, missing the long length of it.

‘Being perfect, my dear Eloise, is not all I thought it would be.’ They sat in silence for a while longer, Daphne rocking back and forth on her swing while Eloise continued to breathe in the smoke.

‘Did you have any luck finding Whistledown?’ If there was one way to bond with Eloise, it was to mention her brilliant mind. Her theories were fascinating, stories of tradeswomen but not a servant, a widow perhaps, and Daphne listened along.

She would protect Eloise, and Francesca and Hyacinth, for as long as she could. She thought back to Eloise’s question about children, decided that it would be one of the next things she would discuss with her.

Once Eloise’s story had rambled out into nothingness, Daphne rose from her perch, moving across to briefly kiss her sister’s forehead. If she was surprised, she hid it well.

‘Sleep well, Eloise.’

**

‘The final event cannot just be unattended.’ Benedict pointed out, before Anthony silenced him by holding up a hand. He moved away from the desk, to the door to the study, and opened it quietly.

‘Daph?’ It was far too late, or perhaps early, to see his sister wandering the Bridgerton household.

‘Good evening, Anthony.’ She had been outside, from the slightly wind-ruffled appearance of her hair, and the wrap of a blanket around her shoulders. Dressed in yet another of his shirts – _honestly, where did she keep finding them? ­_ – and breeches, but her feet were without shoes.

‘Would you like to join us?’ It wasn’t something he’d normally suggest, inviting her into the room with Colin, Benedict and the newest member, Simon, but he would do anything to have her talk to them.

‘I am on a quest for warm milk.’ Something close to a smirk graced her lips, leaving Anthony to remember the last time they had done such a thing.

‘Then we shall accompany you.’

Daphne didn’t seem perturbed, continuing her mission while Anthony recounted how they last went to find milk in the kitchen. He left out the part where neither of them could light the range, watched as Daphne retrieved the milk and moved towards the monstrosity.

‘How is Mother, this evening? I saw her exiting your room earlier.’ Colin offered up the topic, Anthony more confused than anything as his sister knelt down in front of the range, taking out a small box of some sort from the side.

‘She was quite well, brother. A little distracted, perhaps because of Eloise’s attendance at the final event of the season.’ A spark appeared from nowhere, Daphne lowering her head to blow gently, fanning out the tiny ember as the fire caught.

‘How on earth did you do that?’ Benedict had no reservations about pointing out the obvious, staring as Daphne shut the tiny box up.

‘It is called a tinderbox. One can use it, to light a fire.’ She showed it to him, before replacing it on the side.

‘Did you learn such a thing from Rose?’ Colin added, handing her the milk as she reached for a pan.

‘Martha taught me.’ That was something new, Anthony thought excitedly, looking between his brothers and then back to Daphne.

Daphne, who had settled beside Simon, studying the pan intently.

‘Were you with Will today?’ Anthony had also noticed Simon’s disappearance from the Bridgerton residence, not that he’d have pointed it out to Daphne.

‘He wanted to train.’ Or, more accurately, Simon wanted an excuse to work out his frustrations. Anthony could understand that, he’d noted his consumption of ale had increased dramatically, as had the whisky he kept stashed.

‘Perhaps you might teach me how to punch like that.’ Daphne missed the look Anthony sent his brothers, too busy tending to the milk and pouring it out into cups, before looking back at Simon.

‘I know from experience that you have an incredible right hook.’

‘What did we miss?’ Benedict questioned, Daphne rolling her eyes as she sipped from the mug.

‘When Simon and I first engaged in our ruse,’

‘Ruse?’ Colin interrupted, staring between them.

‘We were pretending to be in love.’ Daphne explained, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Anthony wondered if she knew that it had never been pretending, for Simon.

‘It was because of the event with the lights, where we first danced. I had left the dance for some fresh air,’ She faltered, and without realising, had leaned back into Simon’s body, as if for reassurance,

‘Nigel Berbrooke followed me out into the garden, and seemed to insinuate that we were to be married.’ Simon’s eyes were dark, fists clenched by his side, restraining himself from saying anything that Daphne might not respond well to.

‘Anyway, when he attempted to take hold of me, I must have made a sound,’

‘You did.’ Simon smoothly cut in, where Daphne began to stumble, ‘But I really wasn’t needed. By the time I arrived, she’d knocked the climp flat out.’ Benedict laughed in shock, Colin grinning at her proudly, and Daphne hiding her smile behind the remnants of the milk in her cup.

‘Always a Bridgerton.’ Anthony praised, nudging her shoulder playfully, but mostly just because of the need to see her smile up at him. No anger, or hatred, no matter what he’d done to deserve it.

He’d engaged her to that man, had been ready to see her married.

‘Forgive me, it is late, and I have kept you for quite enough time.’ Daphne placed down her mug, moving back to the fire with a bucket in hand, diminishing the flame quickly before reaching in.

‘Daph!’ He protested, understanding the basics of the fact it would be hot, yet she just continued to work, moving away and turning to him with black, but unburned, hands.

‘One doesn’t touch the _fire_ , Anthony. Honestly, do I look like a jester to you?’ It was teasing, but she did wipe her hands clean before showing them to him. Sure enough, nothing more than the faint marks from where her own nails had split skin.

‘Sleep well, brothers, Simon.’

**

Anthony woke to screaming, violent and angry and terrified, sitting up out of his bed and throwing open the door. In the corridor, Benedict and Colin were also poking their heads out, and across the stairway, he could see Simon and Eloise both looking in the direction of the Guest Chambers.

‘Mrs Wilson, what…’

‘It’s Lady Daphne, my Lord.’ She didn’t even pause, continuing rushing past him like he _wasn’t_ the head of this household.

Then again, when the next scream broke through the house, he could understand why.

‘Mama? What’s going on?’ Gregory poked his head out from his room, while Hyacinth had already found her way to their Mother, wrapped up in a robe and stumbling in the direction of Daphne’s room.

‘Eloise, stay with Gregory and Hyacinth.’ Anthony snapped, leaving his room and overtaking his Mother’s path.

Rose was at Daphne’s door, trying the handle that was clearly locked, voice increasingly louder as she tried to call through to the other side.

‘It’s locked.’ Mrs Wilson bluntly pointed out, before calling for Humboldt to find the spare set of keys.

‘Hastings,’ Anthony’s suggestion was met with a nod, the eldest Bridgerton sibling reaching for Rose and lightly guiding her out of the way.

Simon’s foot hit the door, near the lock, and the cracking sound echoed out. It was then a quick bustle to get through the door, both Simon and Anthony attempting to reach Daphne first, before he shoved past his friend and halted.

Sure enough, Daphne was not in her bed. She was curled up under the desk, still somehow asleep, body entangled in blankets and face screwed up in pain.

‘Should we try and wake her?’ Benedict’s question fell on deaf ears, mostly because Simon had already reached his wife’s side, hesitantly reaching for her shoulder.

When Daphne’s eyes opened, Anthony was caught in the terror they held. Darting around the room, desperately trying to move _away_ from Simon, who held both hands up in surrender.

‘Daphne.’ He spoke her name softly, with love and adoration and all the things that she deserved, and it seemed to work for a moment. She relaxed, although her breathing was still far too heavy.

‘Get out.’ That was quite unlike his sister, the anger and pain that laced her tone as her lips curled up.

‘Get out!’ Simon rocked back like he’d been struck, Daphne rolling over sharply and curling in on herself, shoulders beginning to shudder as sobs broke the silence.

That was worse than the screaming.

He’d always had a serious issue when it came to his siblings being hurt, his determination to protect them. His Father, their Father, had told Anthony that it was his duty to keep his siblings safe, to preserve the Bridgerton name. So, listening to Daphne’s wracking sobs over an event that he was, at least partially, responsible for? It was impossible, and he found himself kneeling at the dresser before he even realised what he was doing.

‘Daph.’ He remembered when she was little, probably no older than four or five, and she’d been running out in the gardens when she’d tripped and fell, skimming both her knees and ripping her dress. She’d been inconsolable, refusing to speak to either their Mama, nor any of their siblings, not until he’d found her hiding in the library under their Father’s desk. It felt like they sat there for hours, Daphne pretending to ignore him despite the fact her head had rested on his shoulder, while he held her.

She didn’t shy away from the hand he placed on her clothed arm, but she did tense.

‘Daphne.’ He repeated, trying for the same sort of protection that Simon had achieved in his tone, but his sister just shuddered.

‘You didn’t find me.’ She whispered, into the darkness, and Anthony’s heart shattered a little more.

**

‘Should I be concerned?’ Anthony’s question was a thinly veiled threat, Daphne thought, ignoring him in favour of letting Benedict shift her stance. He was careful to only touch her briefly, hands withdrawing as soon as she had her feet in the correct position.

‘Again.’ The artist of the family stated, and Daphne took the swing at Colin. He ducked, a grin on his face as he returned the blow. She copied Benedict’s earlier movement, feinting to the left before attempting to hit out at the soft side of Colin’s abdomen. He was much quicker than she was, obviously, but Daphne was nothing if not determined.

‘If only because you are usually the one that deserves hitting.’ Simon drawled, looking up from where he was perched on the bench. After last night, each of them had acted differently around her. Simon had been surprised when she’d kissed his cheek this morning, before recovering enough to let his lips rest against her forehead. Benedict and Colin had been more than happy to spend the morning with her, alternating between discussing Miss Thompson, and Benedict’s art.

She’d apologised to Colin for not being there when he needed her help the most, to which he had startled, accepting her hesitant embrace.

‘Says the boxer.’ Anthony retorted, eyes trained on Daphne as she lunged yet again. Colin laughed, stepping aside and returning her enthusiasm, being careful not to aim anywhere near her injuries. She blocked the first blow, deflecting with her forearm, then used his momentary shock to hit below his ribcage.

Benedict cheered, Simon clapping, as Daphne turned to look at Anthony.

‘I suppose you’re not _awful_.’ He crossed is arms, huffing out the words like it pained him to say them.

‘I knew there was a reason you are my favourite eldest brother.’ She chimed, watching his chest puff out in pride, before he realised the exact wording. Benedict and Colin burst out laughing, Simon chuckling as Anthony frowned at her.

‘I change my mind, you are awful.’ Daphne couldn’t help it, she laughed. Mostly because he looked so perturbed, the faint annoyance that had her eyes watering as she hiccupped back a snort.

‘Not the snorting!’ Colin cried, which only made her situation worse, desperately trying to cover her mouth as another undignified sound slipped out.

Once she had calmed down, aided by Simon’s hands guiding her back to the bench, she realised that they were all studying her with different expressions.

‘Should one be concerned by your stares?’ She questioned, struggling to wipe the grin from her face.

‘Not at all, sister. It had just been a while since you’ve laughed like that.’ She wanted to argue with that, to point out she had laughed only… oh. Perhaps she had not laughed since coming back, at least not properly.

‘One cannot help it, when you are all quite ridiculous.’

**

Anthony took another long sip of his drink, revelling in the time away from the Bridgerton household. It was a stressful enough place to be, but with his Mother constantly harassing him for news on Daphne, and Benedict and Colin looking at him to lead the way… it was hard. Harder still, knowing that Daphne had been waiting for them to rescue her, before realising nobody was coming. That they could not find her, and she had to escape by herself.

‘It is usually you, who cannot keep your mouth shut on our evenings out.’ Simon sat across from him, as usual, at White’s Gentlemen Club. A glass of whisky in his hand, drinking steadily as the silence stretched between them.

‘I have nothing to say.’ They’d not fought since she got back, not properly. No punches or swearwords, just some glares and occasional frowning.

‘Daphne does not blame you, Bridgerton.’ He finished his drink in one quick gulp, gesturing for it to be refilled. At the other end of the room, the door was opening, the women entering.

It was then that he remembered Siena. It had been a while since he thought of her, in fact, it had to have been before Daphne’s disappearance. His entire mind had been concentrating on the loss of his sister, with no space to spare for his own broken heart.

‘Nor you, Hastings.’ He knew that other men in the room were discussing them, murmuring about the Duchess that had been lost, and found. The women were no better, two making their way straight towards the two of them.

‘Not tonight.’ Anthony remarked, daring them to try and worm their way into the conversation. The first one simply bobbed her head, moving on, while the second lingered, looking at Simon.

Simon, who didn’t even bother looking at her, clearly too deeply in thought about Daphne.

They both continued their drinking, until Anthony happened to tune back in to a conversation at the whispered mention of Daphne.

‘… heard she was tied up.’ Lord Byron, Anthony believed that to be his name, muttered.

‘Alone with a disgraced Lord for that long? No wonder they’re hiding her away.’ Anthony blinked, trying to discreetly turn his head closer.

‘Trying to cover it up. A Duchess as a bed-wench?’

For some reason, Anthony had not even considered… no. It just hadn't happened. It wasn’t true.

The glass in his hand shattered, right at the time Simon’s head snapped to him, confusion turning to anger when he realised that Anthony’s attention was focused on the two gentlemen. He would have challenged them, punched them, but his mind was focused entirely on what they’d just said.

He was out of the Club quicker than ever before, Simon hot on his heels, calling his name.

‘Bridgerton! Bridgerton, Anthony wait,’ A hand clamped on his shoulder, the Lord spinning on the balls of his feet to square up to the Duke.

‘You cannot…’

‘I have to know.’

‘Daphne will tell us when she’s ready.’

‘Will she?’ Anthony cut in, gripping Simon just as tightly as the Duke was holding him.

It wasn’t that the Duke didn’t care. It was the opposite. If Anthony asked, if they got the answer they were both fearing… It was guilt. The both of them, dreading what had happened to Daphne, terrified that she would never forgive them. That, under all the pretence of titles, they were not worthy of anything.

‘I _need_ to know.’ Anthony corrected, Simon’s hand dropping from his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not be posting an update tomorrow, because I've got a busy day, but I'll be back the day after :)


	6. A Visit to the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne's bonding with Simon, Anthony asks a dangerous question, and the Queen is intrigued

Daphne hummed, mostly to herself, partly because Rose smiled whenever she managed to pick up a tune. They worked in silence, Daphne carefully removing each of the bandages, before Rose would reapply the salve, and then wrap her back up. They’d finished her abdomen and feet, thankful that her thighs needed nothing more than a paste applied, before moving on to her wrists. These were, by far, the ones she was worried about most. Everything else could be covered by clothing, but once she was out of shirts, she’d have to dress with gloves for the rest of her life.

Or, she could simply remain uncaring about the fact that her wrists would remain scarred. Rose certainly didn’t seem deterred, beginning to unwrap her left wrist first, the bandages a gruesome mixture of blood and what she feared was pus.

‘This might sting.’ Her closest friend, the one that had seen the most, stated. Daphne braced herself, but the pain was minimal, probably because of the increased dosage of pain medication that had been gifted from the Doctor.

Just as her fingers moved to her inner wrist, the part where the skin was still tender and prone to bleeding, the door to her room was throne open.

Anthony looked like he’d been possessed, hair tussled and eyes wide, a slight tinge of liquor to his appearance. Behind him, Simon looked hesitant, like he was tempted to drag her brother away. Benedict and Colin had been summoned by the noisy ruckus, halting alongside Anthony as they stared at Daphne, then down to her wrists.

‘I… should have knocked.’ Anthony carefully stated, Rose bobbing her head and stepping back as Daphne thanked her quietly.

‘At this late hour, brother, I can only presume you have something you wish to discuss.’ Rose skirted around them, waited for Daphne’s nod before she slipped out of the room.

‘Would one of you mind assisting me?’ She added, staring at her injured wrist, before looking back up.

Colin snapped out of the stalemate, moving across to her side and reaching for the cloths in the basin that Rose had been using. Smiling thankfully, they worked together for a moment, Colin cleaning as she unravelled a new strip of cloth to bind it.

‘Sister, I have a question.’

‘Quite shocking.’ She murmured, Colin choking on a laugh and dabbing slightly too hard at her wrist, not that she reacted.

‘I know you do not wish to talk about your time with Berbrooke…’ She hadn’t been expecting that. Anthony usually ran his tongue regardless of propriety, but he hadn’t pushed this topic, not yet. It was probably why Simon looked ready to drag him from the room, if it hadn’t been for his own curiosity.

What had them in such a frenzy?

‘Speak your mind.’ She prompted, watched as Colin tucked in the end of bandage. She flexed her wrist, pleased that she could barely feel the ache from the manacles.

‘Did he… hurt you?’ It was an obvious question. Anthony had just _watched_ Colin wrap up her wrist, so quite clearly she had been hurt. Her witty reply was cut off by the way Benedict’s fists clenched, Colin going very silent, with a look that bordered on murderous.

Oh. She understood what they meant, now. It was a logical question, the scandal that could come if that had happened…

‘I am not with child, if it is scandal that you fear, brother.’ She rose up, trying her best for a smile, but Anthony basically rocked back like he’d been hit.

‘That… no. That was not… I do not _care_ about scandal! I care about _you_.’ To bring comfort, she wanted to deny him. She wanted to say that Nigel Berbrooke had never laid a hand on her, that she had been in as much comfort as possible for her time away.

‘I, it was not the full act, he did not…’ She realised she was stumbling, rambling, struggling to get her tongue to wrap around the words that would explain to them what happened.

Simon was gone, door slamming behind him as he stormed out, Anthony looking close to doing the same.

‘I apologise, brother, for any discomfort…’ She was cut off when Anthony took a step forward, face full of anguish.

‘Never apologise to me, Daphne. Never.’ He was not angry at her, she realised, as his arms slowly wrapped around her and tugged her forward.

She accepted the embrace, tucked her head under his chin and tried to stop tears from forming. She thought that they’d hate her, and perhaps Simon did, considering how he’d left the moment he found out that she had been ruined.

‘We should have kept you safer.’ Her eldest brother murmured into her hair, fingers running through the shorter strands.

‘I rather think that would be impossible.’ She mumbled back, lingering in his comfort even as he pulled back.

‘Hastings isn’t angry at you, Daph. He’s… we want you to trust us. There is no judgement for what happened, I only wish I’d had the honour of killing the fucker myself.’ Anthony then seemed to realise the word he’d used, darted a concerned look to Daphne, who just smiled up at him.

‘I shan’t tell Mother you used that word, if you would accompany me to find Simon?’ She wasn’t yet sure she could be alone with one of them, not properly, and Anthony understood. He said nothing, just waited for her to hug both Colin and Benedict, before they left the room.

**

‘I shall become interested with this wall.’ Anthony remarked, studying up the paintwork like it was the most fascinating thing in the country. For that, Simon was grateful, looking down to his wife and halting.

Daphne studied him, just as she always did. Curious eyes that lingered on his, before darting to his knuckles, noting the torn skin. A huff escaped her lips, but she did not say anything, opting instead to take his hand and guide him into her old Chambers, to the basin of water on the side. The door remained open, no doubt for her comfort, and that brought him back to the thought of what Berbrooke had done.

He wanted to ask more. He needed to know everything, to understand, to realise just how badly he had failed at protecting her. Instead, he allowed his hand to be cleaned, watched as Daphne chewed on her lower lip, a habit that she did more and more often since her return.

‘When I realised you had not returned,’ He began, halting when bright eyes peered up at him, ‘I thought my heart might break.’ It was an understatement. He’d raged, stormed through his home, _their_ home, demanding answers. He’d ridden like a lunatic, drank far too much alcohol, done anything to forget the guilt that weighed on his heart.

‘Our argument that morning, Daphne, I will forever regret it.’ Her fingers closed over his hand, oddly warm despite the cold water she’d been touching just moments before.

‘Simon, I pushed you too far. Whatever happened with your Father, whatever that vow was, I should have respected it. I was angry at your wording, but when I was away,’ A loose term, he thought, captured by the way her lips quirked into a smile, ‘I realised that all that matters to me is my family. You, my siblings and Mama, Rose. I am happy here, with you. Just you.’

He wanted to ask what had changed her mind. What had driven Daphne, a woman who longed for a family, to simply accept a vow he’d made out of anger and spite. She had every reason to demand answers, to ask why he’d stolen her dream, but she did no such thing.

‘You wanted children…’

‘I want you. Plus, I’m quite sure my siblings will provide me with all the nieces and nephews I could ever hope for.’ Unlike the last time she told him that, this time, he could see it was true. Or, at least, she’d convinced herself that was what she believed.

Tonight, she had shared something with him that he knew had to be difficult. In return, to show he truly was not angry at her, he would do the same.

‘You are aware that I was raised by Lady Danbury,’ He began, ignoring the fact that Anthony was outside, ‘and kept from the public eye?’

Daphne nodded, guided him to sit down, before moving to his side. An arm around his shoulders, leaning against him, waiting patiently.

‘My Father was desperate for an heir, for a Duke to continue his line, but I… I was born with an impediment. I could not speak without a stammer.’ His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, heart loud enough to hear, but Daphne did nothing but continue to run her fingers through his hair, soothing.

‘Lady Danbury found me, taught me to overcome my burden, but my Father… he was never impressed. Whatever I did, it wasn’t enough. The vow was made to him, to swear I’d never continue the line he worked so hard to preserve.’ He waited for his wife to flee, or to laugh, but neither came.

She crouched down, snatching up one of his hands, while the other came to cup his cheek.

‘You are more than one man’s expectations, Simon Basset. A better man than he could ever be, and deserving of your title. It is not a burden, to have a weakness. It is a show of strength, to live with it.’ She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before taking a subtle step back.

‘Whatever did I do to deserve a wife like you, Daphne Bridgerton?’ He questioned, voice rough from the emotion he tried to hold back.

‘Well, someone had to reform the rakish Duke of Hastings.’ She teased, and he could not help it, he laughed.

She rose up, him following, walking her to the door, before spotting Anthony. He was still staring at the wall, but Simon did not miss the slight watering in his eyes.

‘Good night, Daphne.’ She beamed, moved to kiss his cheek again, and he wondered if she realised she was becoming more affectionate again.

‘Good night, Simon. I shall see you in the morning, for our meeting with the Queen?’ He’d entirely forgotten that they were to visit her Majesty, with Anthony accompanying.

‘I’ll be right by your side.’ She ducked her head, a flush overtaking her cheeks, before looking to Anthony.

He nodded sharply, following her off down the corridor, leaving Simon to watch the two of them retreat.

**

‘You look… like the diamond of the season.’ Rose finished, while Daphne cocked her head to the side. She had not slept an inch, had woken Colin, the sibling closest to her room, twice. Each time he had knocked on her door, and she had apologised profusely, before they gave up in the early hours of the morning to talk more about Miss Thompson. She told him of her idea to find Miss Thompson’s lover, to make the man pay, while Colin told her she had a heart far too kind. Then they moved on to speak of his ideas to travel, and by the time dawn had come, she hoped that he had realised he could do whatever he put his mind to.

‘Madame Delacroix is quite incredible.’ Daphne agreed, tracing the edge of the shirt. Her breeches were form-fitted, tailored at her ankles to reveal the shoes she was wearing. Her shirt was a simple white, but the jump went around the _outside_ , with lace around the edges. A jacket of rich blue, oddly feminine in the way it sat against her form, a collar that hid the marks around her neck. A little makeup had been applied to hide the darkness under her eyes, and her short hair was curled into tight ringlets.

‘The Queen will either be intrigued, or have us dismissed.’ Daphne turned, admiring the way it made her legs look a lot longer than she believed them to be, before she looked back to Rose.

‘You look like you have a plan, my Lady.’ She scowled at the term, before schooling her expression, and reaching for the piece of paper that she’d been working on last night.

‘A Bridgerton must always have a plan, dearest Rose.’

**

‘Whistledown’s report did you no justice, Lady Hastings.’ The Queen peered down at her, curiosity clear, and Daphne forced herself to stay curtseyed despite the fact her back was burning.

‘Thank you, your Majesty.’ She rose back up, knowing that she had Simon on one side, and Anthony on the other. Perfectly safe, not that she feared the Queen. Not when she had something the woman so clearly wanted.

‘I must also give my gratitude for your help in the investigation.’ Daphne added, meeting Charlotte’s eye, watching the Queen just as the woman watched her.

She waved off the thanks, instead narrowing her gaze.

‘Lord Berbrooke’s estates are to be given to your family, as reparation for his actions. Perhaps money for your children.’ She managed to keep her lips upturned, bobbing yet another curtsey.

‘That is far too kind, your Majesty.’

‘A brood to put your Mother to shame, no doubt.’ She had heard the same thing from Anthony, on the day of her wedding.

This time, it did not cause the same panic that the words had the first time. Daphne straightened her back, let her shoulders rest back and titled her chin up.

‘We aim to please our Queen’s wishes.’ She looked to Simon, who was staring right back at her with something that resembled surprise, before he managed to hide it.

‘Well then, tell me of what happened.’ Daphne knew that one thing the Queen wanted, was to be the centre of gossip. She did not want Whistledown knowing more than her, questioning her, and so Daphne had been prepared for this question.

But, she also had a duty to her family. Her own demands, requirements that she’d planned out, so she took a risk.

‘Might we walk in the gardens, your Majesty? It is rather a long tale, and the details are not suitable for all these ears.’ Delight crossed the Queen’s face, Daphne briefly nodding to her companions, before following the woman out of the room.

**

She gave the juiciest pieces of information, sticking to safe topics on Berbrooke’s decline, and mentioning what she had learned of the investors. Discussing the Mistress and her son, never by name, and the footmen that Nigel had convinced to obey him. The Queen interrupted with questions, intrigue as to Daphne’s knowledge on his estates.

‘You intend to use this information?’

‘Only with your permission, my Queen.’ Another thing that delighted her, control. Sure enough, Daphne caught the way her lips quirked up, the pleased expression that she schooled sharply.

‘You Bridgertons have provided the most entertainment I’ve had in years, you in particular, Lady Hastings.’ Daphne meekly inclined her head, keeping in step as they moved between the hedgerows.

‘Your attendance at the final event of the season is expected.’ She added, while Daphne winced.

‘Your Majesty, my current dress is due to…’

‘Your injuries, yes, Whistledown reported on it. Attend in your current style, it will make for quite the evening.’ Of that, Daphne had no doubt. Whistledown would either call her an icon, or completely ridicule her. Not that she cared, when the Queen had given her permission.

‘As for your adamant protectors,’ The Queen remarked, nodding to where Anthony and Simon were standing shoulder by shoulder, waiting for them to return, ‘I expect that to be amusing at the dance.’

‘Your Majesty, if I might make one more request of you…’ Daphne began, watching Charlotte’s eyes snap across to her.

‘This should be interesting.’

**

‘Brother, might we convene in the study tonight? I have things I’d like to discuss with you.’ Anthony looked to Daphne, who had been looking out of the Carriage window for most of the journey back. She’d returned from the gardens with her head close to the Queen’s, quick words and discussions on things that he wanted to ask about, but he didn’t.

‘Should Colin and Benedict be joining us?’ She pondered on that for a moment, fingers fidgeting in her lap, before she glanced up.

‘That would probably be best.’

‘Did the Queen mention the final event?’

‘A week after next? My presence was requested. In this,’ She gestured down at herself, ‘Form.’ Anthony blinked, looking to the outfit she had appeared in this morning. Lacings around her chest, a white linen shirt under, and a jacket that probably cost more than his entire dress.

‘Whistledown will have comments.’

‘Perhaps Whistledown should stick her nose into other people’s business.’ Daphne snapped, before her expression quickly softened.

‘Forgive me, I didn’t…’

‘I agree. She is quite the adventuress.’ Simon remarked, Anthony shooting him a thankful look. He didn’t need Daphne to restrain herself around them, she was more than free to speak her mind. Unusually capable, that was how his sister would best be described.

‘Would I be allowed to eat dinner with you all this evening?’ She’d been staying in her room, with Rose coming and going with plates of food, but the fact she thought she needed to ask…

‘You’re always welcome.’ Anthony cut in, watched as Simon reached for her hand, and Daphne accepted it.

How long would it be till Whistledown made a comment? This sanctuary, the peace that she’d received from the Queen, was bound to break sometime.


	7. Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, drawing and tea

‘Daphne! I was not aware you’d be joining us for dinner.’ Violet looked delighted, Simon guiding her around the table and to the chair Anthony pulled back, by his side. She rolled her eyes, muttered under her breath that she was quite capable of sitting down without assistance, which had both Colin and Eloise choking on their drinks.

‘I thought it about time that we eat dinner together again.’ Apart from Fran, but she would be back soon, and then they would be complete. A perfect Bridgerton household.

Dishes were uncovered, rich meats and cheeses and vegetables that caught her attention, while the staff moved around to fill up their glasses with wine. Hyacinth, Gregory and Eloise were restrained to flavoured water, but Daphne sneakily reached to swap her glass with her eldest sister’s, Eloise pausing, before nodding in understanding. Her sister longed to be considered an adult, and Daphne had no intention of disobeying the Doctor’s orders.

‘How did the Queen seem, Daphne? In good health?’ In good spirits, was what her Mother really meant, but Daphne wouldn’t betray the conversation she’d had.

‘Quite. The Estate’s from the Berbrooke name have been gifted to our family.’ She’d seen the documents, as had Simon and Anthony.

‘Oh, that was kind of…’

‘Daphne’s being modest, the titles are in _her_ name.’ Anthony butted in, nudging his glass against Daphne’s. She smiled across at her eldest brother, then went back to attacking her greens.

‘What will you do with the money?’ Hyacinth interrupted, Gregory perking up.

‘I’d adore a horse.’

‘Or a boat.’

‘Perhaps both!’ Hyacinth clapped her hands together, Violet scolding the both of them as Daphne chuckled.

‘I intend to put it to good use. I have a meeting across town, at midday Friday, if you’d accompany me?’ She looked over to Simon, who shot her his most dazzling smile in return, the one that never failed to make her heart skip.

Strange, she’d not felt like that in a while.

‘And, of course, I have younger siblings to dote on.’ The last bit was teasing, although true, and Hyacinth started bickering once again with her brother about how she would receive the most gifts.

‘Across town?’ Anthony questioned quietly, Daphne finishing the vegetables and deciding she could stomach no more.

‘With investors.’ Simon’s hand sought hers out, linking their fingers together on top of the table as he took a sip of his wine.

‘I did not know you were interested in such things.’ Benedict remarked, before being hit on the arm by Eloise.

‘Is that because she’s a woman?’

‘Eloise…’ Anthony warned her quietly. Eloise huffed, before falling silent when Daphne knocked her leg against hers under the table. They made eye contact, exchanged a brief smile, before dinner was resumed.

**

‘A drink?’ Anthony asked, pouring whisky for the others. She’d never actually tried the liquid, but she presumed it was strong, from Simon’s face as he took a gulp.

‘I shall steal Simon’s.’ She informed him, her husband chuckling but allowing her to reach for the glass. The Doctor could surely not be angry for a little liquid courage, not when she had kept herself in check at dinner.

‘What did you wish to discuss?’ It tasted awful, like someone had punched her rather harshly in the nose, making her eyes water as she spluttered it down. Simon hid his smile, snatching back the glass.

‘I have obtained the Queen’s permission, but of course, I would never go against your wishes…’ She began, noting that her three brothers exchanged a look, before turning back to her.

‘Should I be concerned?’ Her eldest brother joked, even if he looked worried. Simon’s hand had come to settle on her lower back, unknowingly over the lashes, but the cloth was thick enough that she could hold back her mild discomfort.

‘It is to do with Eloise.’ Instantly, Benedict was on the defensive. She knew why, he had always had a soft spot for her, especially with the two of them trying to go against the norms of an elite family.

‘Eloise?’ Anthony just looked confused, bless him.

‘I have obtained her a place at public school.’ She’d spoke these words in her head, countless times. Never had she imagined that Anthony’s glass would slip from his hand, and Daphne would have to lunge to catch it.

She did, if only by the briefest of moments, whisky sloshing over her hand but the glass remaining uncracked.

‘What?’ Benedict asked, the only one able to speak.

‘The Queen accepted my proposition, of Eloise attending Westminster, in return for her attendance as a debutante next season.’ Simon filled up the glass in her hand, leaving Daphne to hand it back to Anthony, who still looked dumbstruck.

‘She is…’

‘A female?’

‘Yes!’ Anthony agreed, and Daphne sighed.

‘She is incredibly smart, brother. I know it is not my place to suggest how you aid our family,’ She paused, realised that Simon was studying her with a smirk, ‘But I think it would be beneficial for her.’

Benedict looked proud. He even winked, when Anthony wasn’t paying attention. Colin had a similar expression, and Simon? Still by her side, even though what she was saying would tempt scandal.

‘You’re trying to protect her.’ Anthony slowly remarked, eyes darting to meet hers.

Had she been that obvious in her motives?

‘I wish for her to be better advised on the world, before she is married.’ Simon’s body tensed, hand going to retreat, but she stepped back to settle against his chest. Peering up, she offered a smile, letting him know that she would not change what had happened between them.

‘If the Queen herself has approved…’ Anthony began, before shaking his head as if clearing his thoughts, ‘Then who am I to deny it?’

Daphne laughed, then cried, because she hadn't quite _believed_ her brother would listen to her. He made a protesting sound as she hugged him, thanking him while hiccupping back another sound of contentment.

‘The funds will have to be secured…’ Benedict began, but Daphne shook her head.

‘It is to come from Berbrooke’s Estate.’

‘That is your money…’

‘And it was my idea.’ She snapped, daring any of them to argue.

‘I think it a perfect idea.’ Simon smoothly wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her temple as Daphne had her staring match with her eldest brother.

‘You have him jumping hurdles.’ Anthony finally joked, looking between them, before turning back to the decanter of whisky.

‘One day, Bridgerton, you’ll find a woman you’d do the same for.’ Simon shot back in the same tone, but Daphne’s attention was on Benedict, who winced. Almost unseen, had she not been paying attention.

She made a note to spend the day with him, tomorrow, and Colin.

‘When will you tell Eloise?’ Colin asked, Daphne blinking as she looked to Anthony, who shrugged.

‘It is your news to break, sister.’

‘Perhaps you should tell Mother first.’ Benedict’s input was a good one, and Daphne turned her best pleading expression to Anthony.

‘Turn those eyes to someone else.’ He grumbled, draining his drink.

‘I should not know how to address her.’ She tried, knowing her brother would cave.

He did.

‘Fine, I shall speak to Mother.’ Simon chuckled, clearly amused by Daphne’s power over him, and she beamed.

‘I should be heading to my room.’ Daphne excused herself, but Anthony caught her hand before she could leave.

‘Have you been sleeping?’ So, it was not just Colin that was aware sleep escaped her. She flinched, ignored the way Anthony snatched his hand back as she did so.

‘I’m sure, once the excitement of the week has faded, I’ll be back to my normal self.’ She lied, thankful for Simon’s presence as he guided her out of the room.

**

Benedict stopped Simon after breakfast, found the Duke looking out across the gardens to where Daphne was perched at the bottom of the tree, feet kicked back and her eyes shut.

‘Did she sleep at all last night?’ From the frown Simon sent him, that was a no. Anthony had rambled away in the study, after Simon had taken Daphne to her room, admitting that they should see if a herbal tea might help. By herbal tea, he probably meant the stash of slightly stronger drugs that the Doctor had given Benedict three years prior, after he’d been injured riding.

‘Is Bridgerton telling your Mother?’ Simon’s question was meant to be casual, Benedict thought, explaining the name he used for Anthony. They’d been friends, then reluctant allies in the quest to keep Daphne safe, before becoming brothers. Not that either of them would use the term.

‘Considering he sent me to watch Daphne…’ The Duke huffed, before glancing to the pad of paper Benedict was carrying. Instinct told him to hide it from gaze, so that nobody found out what he was, _who_ he was. Anthony would ridicule him for months, if he ever found out that Benedict was trying to become an artist.

‘I was going to ask Daphne if she’d allow me to use her as a muse.’ He found himself admitting to the man, who hummed under his breath, turning back to look at her.

‘She’d value your company.’ Simon Hastings was an odd man. He appeared tough and emotionless, yet Benedict had seen the way his eyes softened when Daphne was around.

‘And yours.’ Benedict didn’t wait for the Duke’s response, set off across the garden in the direction of his eldest sister.

What she’d done for Eloise, risking the Queen’s displeasure by going out against the norms of the Ton… he was impressed. Stunned, even, by the woman she was becoming.

‘Brother, is it not a lovely morning?’ Daphne didn’t bother to open her eyes, although her lips twitched into a smile, and Benedict found himself returning it.

‘Lovely enough to convince my dear sister to stay still for a little longer?’ He’d been debating this all morning, whether he could ask her for such a thing. Eloise accepted his attempts to become an artist, but that was because her mind demanded more from life. Daphne had always been a strict follower of society, raised as prim and proper as she could be.

Yet now, as she glanced to the sketchpad in his hand, he realised that she had changed.

‘I should be honoured.’ He took the invitation, seating himself down in the grass and arranging his different equipment. Simon had decided to take his advice, wandering across like he just so happened to stumble across them.

‘Good morning, Daphne.’ She patted the ground by her side, shuffling across to make room for him against the tree.

It had to make an odd sight, the Duke and Duchess slowly moving closer to each other as Benedict began his sketch. Shorter hair suited her, curled around her shoulders, beginning to return to the bright shade it had been before she’d been captured.

Sometime close to midday, he realised that time had slipped away from them. Daphne was pressed back to Simon’s chest, the two in an intense debate as to what colour Clyvedon library should be recoloured, as he smudged the edge of the pencil line, trying to decide if he liked how it looked on the page.

‘Pink! Daphne, our staff would revolt!’ Simon scolded, but he was laughing, much like Daphne was.

‘It would suit you.’ She teased, before that terrifyingly smart gaze came to settle on him.

‘You look disturbed, brother.’ In truth, the lines on the paper in front were frustrating. Daphne was near-enough, but Simon’s form was more difficult to capture.

‘I need practice.’ He grumbled, before Daphne’s eyes were sliding past him, to…

Anthony.

He snapped the book shut, looked for a place to hide it, spotted Daphne gesturing for him to give it across. Hesitating only for a moment, he did so, watched it disappear behind her frame and press up against the tree.

Simon continued stroking his fingers through Daphne’s shorter hair, like he’d seen nothing at all.

‘You look like you’re scarred for life.’ Daphne piped up, Anthony glaring at her.

‘Mother can be scary.’

‘Mm.’ She hummed, but the teasing in her eyes lessened the sympathy.

‘But she agreed. When you’re ready, you can tell Eloise she is to start in a month’s time. Make haste, sister, Mother’s awful with secrets.’ Something flashed across Daphne’s face, dark and dangerous and strangely sad, but it was gone the instant Simon ducked his head to murmur something into her ear.

Benedict figured he was not the only one to have missed something, considering the look that Anthony gave the duo.

‘Very well, I shall speak with her tomorrow morning.’

‘Did you manage to sleep last night?’ Unlike Benedict, Simon and Colin, Anthony had absolutely no tact. Bluntness that would usually have received Daphne’s scowling hatred, yet instead, she just smiled up at him gently.

‘I fear I kept the household awake.’ He sighed, kicking his boot against her ankle lightly, a sign of solidarity.

‘Perhaps a herbal tea would assist.’ Daphne rolled her eyes, shooing him away with both hands.

‘Be gone, I’m bonding with Benedict.’ Anthony shot Benedict a look, one that told the second-eldest how much trouble he’d be in later, but obeyed regardless.

Once he was gone, Daphne procured the sketchbook, handing it back to him with a smile.

**

‘Miss, a gift from Lord Anthony.’ Daphne glanced to the steaming cup of tea, rolling her eyes but thanking Rose quietly. It was warm enough to relax her fingers, to breathe in the scent as she finished the last touches to her letter. Once it was done, she sealed it, handing it across to Rose and rising from her desk.

‘Tomorrow, I shall meet with the investors for Lloyd and Banks.’ She breathed out carefully across the surface of the tea, watched it ripple out gradually before glancing up to her friend.

‘With the knowledge that you gained from Berbrooke?’ She was glad that her friend felt comfortable enough to speak to her, it was a shame when she felt like she had to hide who she was. Rose was incredibly smart, considering her station.

‘Her Majesty gave me permission, not that anyone outside this room needs to know.’ The tea tasted slightly bitter, a tang that sat in the back of her throat as she gulped it down. It was kind of her brother to think of her, especially considering he had no idea how to make tea. No doubt he’d convinced Mrs Wilson to assist, or perhaps wrangled Colin into using the range.

‘Of course not.’ Rose agreed, putting away some of the clothes that had arrived from the Modiste, before watching as Daphne pulled the chair away to reveal her current bed.

She knew she’d have to move to her actual mattress soon, but for now…

As she rose back up, she was struck with a sudden nausea, a ringing in her head that only increased as she tried to straighten her back. The cup in her hand wobbled, Daphne realising with a sinking sensation that there had most definitely been something in the tea she’d consumed. Normally, her mind would tell her that it was Anthony, and that he was her brother, her protector. There was no way he’d have harmed her deliberately, she wasn’t under threat.

But, for someone that had been drugged during her month away, she could not convince her body to calm. It tried to fight the sleepiness, her heart rate increasing, the jump around her waist tightening dramatically as the cup hit the floor, shattering.

‘Miss Daphne?’ It wasn’t the tea, anymore. It was her own panic, desperate to get her far away from this room, away from what happened when she was unable to move her own limbs.

‘T-tea.’ She croaked, hands clutching at her throat as if she could scratch the liquid out.

Rose was shouting for someone, catching her arms as she tried flailing.

‘Daphne, Daphne it’s only soothers, they won’t hurt you.’ The door flung open, Anthony and Simon both on the threshold, staring at her as she tried to fight Rose off.

She’d tasted concoctions like this before, she _knew_ what would happen if she fell asleep. Still, as she continued to attack the next pair of arms around her, - Simon, her mind provided - she realised it was a losing battle. Her vision began to blur, arms too heavy to hold, slumping into her captor’s arms and glaring up at the man in front.

‘I h’te you.’ She slurred, before allowing her body to stop fighting.

**

‘I… It was meant to-’

‘Get out!’ Simon shouted, shoving Anthony hard enough that he went back and hit the wall. Neither of his brothers came to defend him, too busy scooping Daphne up out of Rose’s lap, and onto the bed.

She was out cold, complexion pale, chest rising and falling far too rapidly.

‘How much did you put in?’ Colin’s fingers reached for her neck, brushing down the collar as he did so. Very lightly, he pressed down, avoiding the worse of the bruises as he went.

‘I don’t know.’ Anthony felt numb. His sister had said a many hurtful things in their childhood together, but saying she _hated_ him?

‘If you do not leave, my fist will be greeting your chin.’ Simon snarled, positively feral in the face of Daphne being hurt.

He should be pleased, that his sister had such a protector. Yet Hastings was protecting Daphne from _him_.

‘Oh good lord, what on earth…’ Mrs Wilson had appeared, their Mother behind her, and Rose stopped ringing out wet cloths to look to the two of them.

‘I do not think she’s injured, merely in terror from the tea.’

‘Tea? What tea?’ Their Mother demanded, all eyes moving to Anthony.

The eldest could take it no longer, moved from the room as quickly as he had arrived, trying to forget all about those vengeful blue eyes.


	8. Storytime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Anthony, happy Eloise, and sad Daphne

Waking was less painful to watch, Colin decided, as Daphne stretched out a hand like she was searching for someone. Simon, perhaps? Upon patting the empty side of the bed, her eyes flicked open, and he decided that it was not the Duke she was looking for, not with the shock that crossed her complexion as she realised where she was.

‘Daphne.’ The sibling closest to his age, they’d always been close. When Anthony and Benedict would gang up on him during a game of chase, Daphne was the one to join his team. She’d sneak around with him, steal sweet treats from the kitchen and then giggle when she avoided Mama’s temper, hiding away from Anthony when he tried to scold the two of them.

Now, she looked younger again. Less like the debutante, ready to face the Queen, and more like the girl he’d known for all of his life.

‘Colin.’ She greeted, sitting up and wincing, a hand moving to her throat.

He moved to her bedside, perching on the edge and hiding his surprise when she reached out for his hand.

‘Simon’s just gone to bathe, and Benedict’s fetching breakfast.’ She hummed, a scratchy sound considering how sore her throat looked. Red, rubbed raw from her own nails.

‘Anthony?’ She questioned, eyes downcast and her brows furrowed.

Was she angry at him? She had every right to be, Colin would have punched his brother had Simon not threatened him first. He had the best of intentions, but Anthony would always charge first, and think later.

‘He left last night.’ No doubt was out somewhere, getting drunk or into fights.

‘Would you help me up, and ask Humboldt to fetch the Carriage?’ Colin lingered, wanted to tell her that she was in no shape to leave the Bridgerton household. Yet, as she rose her head, he studied the utter determination that shaped her countenance, and decided that it would not be worth invoking her wrath.

‘Of course, sister.’ He wrapped an arm around her waist, noted how she no longer tensed at the touch. He’d been worried that she would be uncomfortable, considering they were alone in the room, and she’d avoided such things with anyone but Rose since her return.

On two feet, the colour seemed to return to her skin.

‘Should I fetch Rose?’

‘No need, I shall meet you downstairs with haste.’ He inclined his head, moving to the door and turning back, only to see Daphne’s mind far away from this room.

**

‘You must eat _something_.’ Benedict insisted, knowing he was close to earning a scowl. The Duke, however, backed him up on this point, gesturing to the leftover plates from breakfast.

‘We should be making haste…’

‘Eat, Daphne.’ Simon prompted, before she caved in and sat down on the chair.

Benedict looked to Colin, who had told him about her order for the Carriage to be prepared. Was she going to the investors, like previously stated, or to find Anthony? It was nowhere near midday, so he had to presume it was the latter.

‘Where is Eloise this morning?’ Daphne asked, chewing on a mouthful of sugared fruits, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a cloth as juice threatened to escape.

‘I believe she is promenading with Penelope. No doubt discussing the Queen’s words.’ Benedict had warned Eloise that her obsession with gossip might one day lead to trouble, but at least she was safe while Whistledown continued to frustrate the Queen. Plus, with Daphne securing the Queen’s favour for Eloise’s education… He wondered if Daphne realised what she’d done, that they could all see quite clearly how she longed to keep her sister safe.

Safe, from their lack of care? He’d allowed his eldest sister to marry a man after a duel, despite seeing the tears in her eyes and the way she tried to hide her pain. Could this have been avoided, had he spoken to her?

‘I shall speak to her after lunch, perhaps.’ Another bite of fruit, before she pushed the plate away and swallowed down the fresh juice.

‘How are you feeling?’ Simon dared to ask, a hand settling on her hip, which Daphne did not step away from. Her eyes did dart down, however.

‘I should be quite well, once we’ve located Anthony.’ It was her plan, then, to find the eldest Bridgerton.

‘He could be anywhere in London…’

‘Oh no, dear Benedict, I know where he is.’ Although her words were teasing, lips quirked up, he could see the panic in her eyes. The misery, which was confusing, considering what had happened the night before.

As she moved towards the door, Benedict could not help but wonder exactly how much she knew about all of them.

**

Anthony would probably cause a scandal. Indeed, already the sun was rising, and although it was not a day of event for the people of the Ton, they would pass by this street often enough to recognise him.

He recalled going to White’s last night, drinking until he was kicked out onto the streets, and that inevitably led him to wander until he ended up here.

To say Siena was unimpressed, would be an understatement. Her sympathy for what had happened to his sister was limited, and after that, both her and Madame Delacroix had made it clear he was not welcome anywhere near their property. With only honourable intentions, he’d tried to leave, only to become acquainted with the hedge outside the house, and now lay slumped on the steps.

‘You cannot be serious.’ The door had opened, and Siena was glaring down at him, with Delacroix standing behind her.

His tongue felt too heavy to speak, a fear that he might throw up over her nice shoes if he dared to try.

‘Bridgerton men.’ Delacroix huffed, the slightest smile at the corner of her mouth, no doubt thinking of Benedict. Anthony presumed he should talk to his brother about his choice in companion, but with how he was currently behaving, it might be a little hypocritical.

‘Should we send for a Doctor?’ Siena looked happier, he thought. Until he’d passed out on her step, that was. Happier, and perhaps it was proof that they were not meant to be, with how his heart had not thought of her until he had done something so appalling that he could not possibly be forgiven.

‘I could send word to the Bridgerton house.’ The Modiste’s suggestion was probably the smartest, save for the fact he might be greeted by a fist if he saw Simon.

‘No.’ His word, though not quite as clear as he hoped, clearly got the message across. Siena frowned, while Delacroix simply raised an eyebrow.

‘If you are running from your actions, Lord Bridgerton, you will not find refuse here.’ Siena’s tone was sharp, just as he remembered, but the title was said with the sarcasm she usually infused into it.

‘H’rt Daph.’ He slurred out, recalling the terror in his sister’s eyes as her legs gave out from under her, the vivid marks she’d left on her own neck in an attempt to prevent the tea from settling.

‘Lady Daphne?’ Siena hushed Delacroix’s question, before both women looked past him, to where hoofbeats were getting louder.

A Carriage had drawn up, and Anthony didn’t need to roll over, for the person that climbed out called his name as soon as they did so.

‘Anthony!’ A moment later, Daphne was kneeling at his side, hands reaching for both his shoulders and guiding him up.

‘Daph?’ He must still be intoxicated, if his mind provided a worried Daphne, rather than the one that hated him.

‘Benedict, Simon, help me get him in the Carriage.’ He was lifted, rather like he weighed nothing, dragged from the steps and thrown rather unceremoniously into the carriage, almost hitting someone’s feet.

Colin, he realised, as his brother dragged him up and into one of the seats. Anthony groaned, reaching for his stomach and trying not to wince at the glare Simon gave him, as he rose up and settled opposite.

‘If you are going to empty your stomach, brother, do refrain from doing it over us.’ Colin’s tone was clipped, but his head was turned to the door, Anthony following his gaze outside.

**

‘Miss Rosso, Madame Delacroix, do forgive my brother’s impertinence.’ Daphne inclined her head to the two women on the doorstep, finally meeting Siena’s gaze.

She was beautiful, in a way that Daphne could see the attraction. Her voice was incredible, to match her countenance, and Daphne was ashamed that she’d never properly seen the connection that the woman had with her brother.

‘Your Grace.’ Siena curtseyed, while Madame Delacroix was looking to Benedict.

‘Sister…’ Benedict began, mind clearly focused on the woman in front, and Daphne smiled.

‘Colin and Simon shall assist me, perhaps you might head to the market? I heard there’s a new import of lace, from France.’ Benedict shot her an unreadable look, before turning back to the Modiste, offering out his hand in the most gentlemanly way.

The Frenchwoman laughed, curtseying to Daphne before accepting his hand, murmuring something to Siena before she did so.

It left Daphne to look to Miss Rosso, who looked uncomfortable at being stood before her.

‘Again, forgive my brother. We shall leave you to your day, Miss Rosso.’ She turned to leave, only for Siena to take a step closer,

‘Wait. I… your Grace, how did you know to find Anthony here?’ She’d forgotten his title, not that Daphne was caring of such a thing.

‘My brother cared for you. His logic might have been flawed, with how he treated you, but his heart was true.’ She paused, glancing back to the Carriage, then to the singer.

‘Anthony is a good man, Siena. I do not pretend to know what happened between you, but I do know that I have never seen him so… wracked with guilt.’ The woman just looked startled, watching in confusion as Daphne bowed her head.

‘Good day to you, Miss Rosso.’

‘Your Grace.’ She murmured, leaving Daphne to return to the Carriage, climbing up and shooing Colin to sit beside Simon, so she could take a place by her eldest brother.

‘Daph?’ Anthony mumbled, eyes wide and confused and quite clearly under the effects of the alcohol he’d consumed.

‘A cold shower should do you well, brother.’ She remarked, turning away from him and looking out across London’s streets.

**

‘Sister?’

‘Excuse me for interrupting Eloise, Penelope.’ The Featherington woman smiled, if a little nervously, bobbing a curtsey to her as Eloise dropped the girl’s hand.

‘Is it our brother?’

‘No, I just wished to speak with you. But if you are enjoying the sun, it can wait.’ Her sister paused, clearly more interested in spending time with Penelope than her, which was understandable. While Daphne had been raised running after her brothers, Eloise had quite quickly managed to make friends outside of her siblings, a feat that that Daphne had never reached. The closest thing she had was Cressida, but that ended the moment they realised they would be competing on the same marriage market.

‘I must go, Eloise, my Mama will want me.’ Penelope excused herself, smiling warmly to the both of them, before heading out of the gate and towards her home. Daphne watched her for a moment, before turning her attention back to Eloise.

‘Is it Anthony?’

‘Might we sit?’ Daphne gestured to the swings, where she’d sat with Eloise not too long ago, at night. This was different, both of them taking a seat while she tried to work out how best to break the news.

What if she was overstepping? Anthony was right, she was trying to protect Eloise, but was this the way to do it? A woman attending any form of school, let alone one like Westminster, was unheard of. Practically impossible, and it been difficult to persuade the school, and the Queen, that she should attend. The letters had been sent in a flurry, before an agreement had been reached that Eloise could study for a year, before her placement would be reviewed.

‘If it is to do with the smokes…’

‘Not at all. I… I spoke to the Queen, with a suggestion for your next year.’ Instantly, Eloise’s face closed off.

‘My season, you mean.’ She was going about this wrong, she figured, shaking her head.

‘Eloise, you are far too smart to be limited to this… event. There is more to life than marriage.’ She could not believe she had just said those words, nor that Eloise didn’t laugh at her as she did.

Actually, her sister looked concerned.

‘If this is about Berbrooke…’ Eloise began, but Daphne interrupted.

‘I have secured you a placement at Westminster, to continue your studies.’

Eloise’s mouth dropped, in quite an un-ladylike fashion, not that Daphne pointed that out.

‘What?’ She croaked out, the elder of the two quickly clarifying the situation.

‘There are conditions, of course. You must attend next season as a debutante, balancing your studies with your social duties. I cannot promise it will be easy, for many a man might like to comment on your mind, dear sister.’ Eloise had ducked her head, but when she rose it, Daphne was surprised to see tears in her eyes. They welled up, before spilling down pale cheeks, reaching her jawline and dripping down to the front of her day-dress, tiny reminders that Daphne should have shown her affections much sooner.

‘You did that, for me?’ She rose out of the seat, to kneel before her sister, taking both of her hands and clasping them in Eloise’s lap.

‘I cannot admit to always understanding, Eloise, but I am your sister, and I care. I will _always_ care.’ She yelped a moment later, when Eloise tackled her back in such a fierce hug, quite unlike anything since they were children. She couldn’t even bring herself to notice the pain, the aggravation that came with hitting her back into the ground as Eloise thanked her.

‘I shall need clothes, and stationary, and oh I must tell Penn! What do you think it shall be like?’ Her ramblings came when she sat back up, still mostly in Daphne’s lap, unaware of Benedict approaching behind them.

‘Sisters.’ He greeted, before Eloise looked from him, to Daphne.

‘You have their approval, too.’ Daphne assured, which resulted in Benedict getting the same attack that she had been gifted. He stumbled, looking surprised by the sudden display of affection, but embraced her nonetheless.

‘I came to inform you that Anthony has been showered down, and placed into bed.’ Eloise snorted, still hugging Benedict, but Daphne bit her lip.

She’d have to have this conversation eventually, to stop her eldest brother from letting the guilt eat away at him.

‘I must go and discuss this with Mama.’ Eloise excused herself, a skip in her step as she moved back towards the house, leaving Benedict to help Daphne up off the ground.

‘Daph?’ He was watching, waiting for her to respond to his previous statement about Anthony, she realised.

‘I shall fetch him some hot broth, I fear Anthony has always disliked egg and garlic.’ Trying to prevent the inevitable conversation, in which she would have to admit why she had responded in such a way. She supposed she didn’t _have_ to tell them, but then Anthony would be broody for days, if not weeks.

No, she had sworn to herself that she would do as much as she could to help her family, and she had every intention of obeying that vow.

‘I shall accompany you, then.’ Benedict offered out his arm, in a rather funny gesture, considering they were both within the confines of their property. Still, she laughed softly, before slipping her arm through his.

**

‘Daphne.’ Anthony struggled to sit up in bed, earning a scowl from Simon, who was seated at the desk in his room. Colin was also present, perched upon the windowsill, turning to her as she moved into the room and nodded to Benedict to shut the door. It would do no good for others to hear, especially her younger siblings.

‘Anthony. How’s your head?’ She carried the tray to his side, watched his confusion and wariness at the offering of the bowl of broth.

‘Nothing but a faint ache.’ That was a lie, she could see the exhaustion, but he didn’t want to worry her. Or, perhaps he thought she would tell him he deserved such a fate.

He accepted the broth, studying the contents with a curious look, that made her smile.

‘It is not drugged, if that is your fear.’ She was jesting, of course, but he looked horrified.

‘Daphne, I had no intention…’

‘Hush. I came to apologise for my actions last night, it was quite wrong of me to say such hurtful words.’ Anthony almost spilled the bowl of broth, avoided only by her stabilising the bowl.

‘I should not have given you the tea, without asking for your permission. I sought only to try and help you sleep…’ He trailed off, mostly because Daphne had become very interested with picking at the hem of her shirt, a habit she really ought to stop.

‘I wish to tell you something.’ Anthony sat up straighter, took a mouthful of the broth and waited patiently, giving Daphne the time to glance to the others in the room.

Simon was the one she lingered on, but he did nothing except smile at her, reassuring that he would not leave. It was strange, she had thought that she might lose her husband, after all that had happened, yet here he remained. A constant by her side, much like her brothers.

‘During my time in the cellar, I slept in a room with Martha and her son, Thomas.’ She thought back to her first meeting, the curiosity and distrustfulness that came with her capture.

‘We would spend the days trying to cook or clean, assisting in needlework or occasionally trying to cultivate the garden that they used for vegetables.’ Martha had dug up a potato, indicated for her to try and copy, much to the amusement of the lady and her son. Daphne had no knowledge on such things, could only gape as they were pulled from the ground.

‘In the evenings, and at night, it was… wise to be silent. Too much noise, and Berbrooke or one of his men would come down, to make us be quiet.’ Thomas had sniffled so much, she thought, remembering the way Martha would make him chew on the edge of her apron to stop the sounds. He was just a boy, clearly had no control over the fear that plagued him.

‘It was quite simple, until the night terrors started. I would try and sleep, but I would always make too much noise. Thomas would stay by my side, you see, for he also struggled with keeping the silence.’ It was too cold down in that cellar, they would huddle closer and closer, Daphne losing the inhibitions about sharing space with a stranger as the chill set in.

‘He would hold my hand as we slept, and I would wake to his brown eyes studying me, like he could not quite understand how I had ended up with them.’ She choked back a laugh, quickly scrubbing at a stray tear that tried to escape.

‘Martha came up with a suggestion, of using herbs to help me sleep. They were strong, I would fall asleep at night, and would wake at dawn. The perfect solution.’ Anthony had placed down the bowl of broth, hand lingering close to hers, but not quite touching.

She did not want the comfort, yet.

‘On the night before my escape, we followed the same routine. Berbrooke had been drinking, more than usual, and we knew they would find any excuse, even the slightest sound, to come down the steps. It worked as usual, the sleep was quite peaceful,’ She halted, throat tightening as she let her eyes shut.

‘I woke to Thomas’s hand in mine, but when I squeezed, he… it was not returned. My clothes were sodden, and I thought the tap might have broken, but when I adjusted to the light… Berbrooke was in the room, slumped in the far corner, clearly unconscious. But he was covered in what I presumed to be wine, until I realised it was not.’ Anthony sucked in air quite rapidly, and she heard a shuffle behind her, but none of them moved.

‘Thomas was already cold by the time I reached him,’ She’d screamed, made such a horrible sound that choked her lungs as she desperately tried to shake him, ‘with his neck cut. Martha was warm, but there were far too many injuries, I could not hope to… I did not know _how_ to help her.’

Daphne took a deep breath, shuddering as she did so, before raising her head to look at Anthony. Her brother stared right back, eyes just as watery as she feared her own to be.

‘I did not mean to say I hated _you_ , brother.’

‘May I?’ Anthony asked quietly, hand stretching for hers, and she met him halfway, in the space between them.

A silence stuck for a moment, before Daphne finally let out a sob, then another, until she could not control the sounds her body was producing as she rocked forwards into her brother’s arms.


	9. Investors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne's spending money, Whistledown's got words, and some beautiful artwork takes centre stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I was buying a new car :)

‘Are you sure you don’t need your husband’s approval, Miss?’ She ignored him, signing her name on the paper before straightening up.

‘My wife is more than capable of handling her own money.’ Simon remarked, from his stance by the window, looking out across the docklands. Daphne had been grateful for his company, and for his assistance with handing across the coin she needed.

‘I must say, the request is a little… strange.’ Daphne did not fear losing her investment, not when she’d had four weeks to listen to the plans that Berbrooke had made. A shipment, coming in from the continent, that would drastically improve the fortunes that Lloyd and Banks currently occupied.

With the money that she would raise from her shares, she would be able to afford to dote on each of her siblings, and her Mama, and the families of those closest to them. She would not have to rely on Simon, not that he’d deny her anything.

‘Just an inkling.’ She hummed, sealing the letter, before stepping back.

Simon was by her side in a heartbeat, his arm offered out to her, and she accepted gratefully. After her conversation this morning, admitting to the deaths of her closest friends, she was trying to forget all that had happened.

‘What do you know, that I do not?’ Simon inquired as they strolled through the docks, in the direction of the waiting Carriage.

‘I suspect our fortunes might improve, by the final event.’ She admitted, smiling up at him as he chuckled.

‘You never fail to surprise me.’

‘I should hope not.’

**

_This Author, though rarely surprised, received the enticing news on the Duchess’s return to the Ton._

Daphne sipped her tea, stretched out on the recliner in the dayroom, while Eloise chattered away about her meeting with Penelope, and how the girl had been just as excited for her acceptance to Westminster.

_Indeed, Lady Hastings, formerly Bridgerton, attended her Majesty’s Palace in what could only be described as the most scandalous of outfits, ever seen in the Ton._

She let her eyes scan the columns of Whistledown’s paper, knowing that the others would be doing the same. Violet was collecting Francesca from their Aunts, leaving Anthony in charge of Gregory and Hyacinth. Simon had gone with Benedict for a round of fencing, leaving Colin to plan out his journey to the continent.

_Accompanied by her most loyal of protectors, Lady Daphne wore breeches in the Queen’s Court. An act of rebellion, or perhaps a new fashion? Certainly, the Queen and the Duchess were seen in close proximity, no doubt discussing sordid details of the disappearance and disgrace of Lord Berbrooke._

‘Penn was quite excited, but she still does not think that I should confront Madame Delacroix about Whistledown.’ Daphne, in her own opinion, agreed with Penn. It did not make sense, for Lady Whistledown to be Delacroix, not when the timing did not quite fit. Why wait until now, to release news on her meeting? Why the vague comments on unknown injuries? The Modiste had seen her, had held her up off the ground.

Plus, she’d been with Benedict last night.

_Fear not, loyal reader, for this Author is nothing if not thorough. If the Queen is hiding the most scandalous of gossip, then I shall uncover it. For now, the Ton can only watch as the Duchess settles back into her London residence, while the questions continue to gather._

How would Madame Delacroix have known about Marina’s scandal? It would be risky, if she had suspected something when fitting the girl for dresses, to leak such a thing. She could lose her job, her livelihood as the most sought-after Modiste in the Ton.

_If one thing is for certain, it is that the final event of the season promises to be quite the night, not just for ambitious Mamas and scheming matchmakers, but for the Duchess’s return to society._

‘Penn says that Marina is still living with them, that they can’t send her home to the country for some reason.’ Eloise placed down Whistledown’s report, as did Daphne, positively buzzing with excitement for the recent report.

‘What did Whistledown gain from uncovering Miss Thompson’s scandal?’ Daphne asked out loud, although mostly to herself.

‘Gossip. Interested readers. A search for the truth. We were quite lucky she seemed to support Colin’s blindness to the situation.’

Daphne pondered over that fact, finishing her tea quietly.

**

‘Oh, you must simply bring back a drawing!’ Daphne clapped her hands together in delight, looking down to Colin’s notes on where he planned to visit. Anthony had remained mostly quiet, save for the occasional snippet of information on the area, before going to fetch more alcohol for the men to drink.

‘If I can find an artist willing to humour your wishes.’ Colin teased her, shoulder nudging at hers as they continued to study the plans.

‘Considering our family already contains a talented artist, I suppose I shall have to settle for second-best.’ Benedict ducked his head from the praise, but Daphne just smiled across at him. It was lucky she had finished speaking, for Anthony returned a moment later, with a decanter in hand.

‘Did you read Whistledown’s report?’

‘Everyone’s read Whistledown.’ Simon grumbled, cheering up when Daphne moved to perch on his lap, a hand settling on her back.

‘She seemed to be in support of you, sister.’ Anthony’s remark was true, the Lady had been quite kind. No mention of scandal, but a heavy focus on how Lord Berbrooke had killed his family.

‘No doubt intrigued as to my outfit choices, for the final event.’ She had seen Madame Delacroix’s ideas, and they certainly outshone anything Daphne had first thought of. Eloise was also being fitted, for a dress, save risking the Queen’s displeasure. A couple of modifications had been added, however, to better suit the theme that the Bridgerton family were going for.

‘And Eloise? Is she… happy?’ Anthony and Eloise were as different as siblings could be, and Daphne could not remember a time when they saw eye to eye. Yet he was still her older brother, and concerned for her first appearance as a potential for next season.

‘Busy preparing for her journey to Westminster.’ Simon’s fingers were rubbing circles into her back, gentle and cathartic in a way that had her forgetting the panic that came with such contact.

‘Wait till Whistledown reports on _that_.’ Benedict joked, taking another mouthful of his drink, before offering it to Daphne.

She took a sip, if only because it amused the group to see her scrunched up nose.

‘Scandalous.’ Anthony murmured against his own glass, but his eyes showed the mischief she knew they all felt.

‘It is our aim to entertain.’ Daphne returned Benedict’s glass, before rising up from Simon’s lap, figuring it was close to her bedtime.

‘Might I walk you to your room, sister?’ Benedict’s quick question implied the desire for a conversation, so she accepted before Anthony could comment, leading the way from the room as they settled in a comfortable silence.

When they reached her room, Daphne found something perched upon the bed. A parcel, wrapped in brown paper, tied with string.

‘A gift?’ She questioned, stepping to the bed and reaching for it, noticing how nervous Benedict looked.

‘You do not have to keep it, obviously, I just thought that perhaps you would like it. Or I can take it back…’ She unwrapped it carefully, halting when her fingers brushed the edge of the frame.

It was her, leaning back against Simon, the two of them under the tree on the day that Benedict had asked to draw them. Coloured crayons had captured the colour of the scene, from her bright eyes to the brown mud on the bottom of Simon’s boots, an image so beautiful she found herself unable to reply to her brother.

‘I should have used paints, I just thought this was something different…’

‘It is perfect.’ She cut in, cradling the frame between her hands, afraid she would damage such a beautiful thing.

‘It is my first proper attempt.’ Benedict offered, running a hand through his hair, and Daphne placed it down on the bed so she could hug him.

‘I love it. Thank you, brother.’

**

Simon halted, mostly because Daphne was seated on the edge of his bed. Her bed, he reminded himself, looking at the item she was holding.

‘Is that…’

‘It is. I thought we might take it back to Clyvedon, when we return at the end of the season.’ They had not openly discussed returning, but with the confidence in which the words were spoken, he came to the conclusion that she was happy with moving home. He had to admit, Clyvedon would seem empty compared to the Bridgerton household, and he made a note to invite her siblings and Mama to stay.

‘We could have it hung in the dayroom.’

‘Once it is redecorated.’ She countered, allowing Simon to study it.

‘Perhaps Clyvedon could do with a completely new artist, to furnish her rooms.’ Daphne’s laughter was contagious, the bright twinkle in her eyes as she placed the art down on his desk, before looking around the room.

‘Do you miss this room?’ He questioned, worried that he was overstaying her compassionate offer, but Daphne suddenly looked rather… worried. Her brow furrowed, hands clasped at the belt of her breeches, clothing he was still not used to seeing her in.

‘I was wondering if I might stay for the night.’ The words were rushed, a blur of sound and noise, but he still understood what she’d just asked.

He could have sworn his heart stopped.

‘Should I have overstepped, I apologise, I just…’

‘Yes.’ He blurted, realising he’d taken a rather quick step towards her, but she didn’t flinch.

‘Yes?’

‘You can stay. I’d like you to stay.’ Daphne’s smile was shy, nodding as a blush spread across her cheeks.

‘I cannot promise I won’t wake in the night…’

‘Then I shall wake with you, so we might spend the time talking.’ He’d said the right thing, from the way her lips quirked.

‘I shall get dressed in nightclothes, then.’ He usually did not wear such things, but with Daphne clearly uncomfortable, he decided that a nightshirt was his best bet, dressing while watching out of the corner of his eye as Daphne moved behind the screen.

He’d not seen her in a dress in a while, even if it was just a nightdress. Her hair was shorter, and he realised with some satisfaction that the bruises on her arms were fading. The ones around her chest still protruded from the fabric, and the ones at her wrists caught his gaze, before he looked to her feet. They were bare, with red cuts and scratches that were clearly healing, along with wraps around her ankles.

‘I look like a ghost, do I not?’ She joked, but Simon had never seen her look so… beautiful. He’d never valued her more than in this moment, as he offered out his hand and guided her back to bed, far more gentle than ever before.

‘Should you wish for anything, love?’ She paused, slipping beneath the sheets and wiggling like she did when she usually got into bed. Usually, she would press her cold feet against his legs, and he’d laugh as she tried to look innocent.

‘Perhaps a little distance? Just for now…’ He moved to his own side, shrugging.

‘Saves me from having my legs frozen off.’ She scowled, wrapping herself up in the sheets and glaring.

‘For that, I shall aim to steal the covers.’

**

‘Aren’t we missing people?’ Anthony questioned, chewing on a slice of bacon as he looked down the table at his family. Mama was still away, and Benedict was with the Modiste, but that still left…

‘Rose, where’s Daphne?’ The maid bobbed her head as he addressed her, keeping her eyes downcast as she spoke.

‘I believe she spent the night with the Duke, my Lord. Would you like me to fetch her?’ He froze, if only because he hadn't even considered the fact that Daphne might sleep in the same room as Simon, now that they were married.

Eloise snorted on her orange juice, Colin patting her sympathetically on the back.

‘Perhaps inquire if they will be wanting breakfast.’ Anthony suggested to her, watching Rose leave the room after his request.

A short while later, as he was finishing his last tomato, the door opened to reveal Simon.

Anthony wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. A smug smile, or a spring in his step, or a subtle wave of confidence that Anthony had to try his best to ignore. He got none of those things, however. Simon looked tired, bags under his eyes, and he noted that the Duke’s gaze was rather hollow.

‘Is everything alright, Simon?’ Eloise asked, clearly having picked up on the same features that he had.

‘A long night. Daphne did not sleep well.’ Simon slumped into his chair, procuring the largest amount of bacon that Anthony had ever seen a man eat, and began to fill his stomach.

The door opened again, this time hosting his sister. She looked in a similar state, but with the addition of guilt, making her way quietly to Simon’s side.

Then, the strangest thing. It was as if the exhaustion faded, like it did not matter that neither had slept a wink, for Simon’s hand reached for Daphne’s, and the two settled into each other’s company. Not recovered, but improving, Anthony concluded.

**

‘I was thinking…’

‘Careful, sister, one might see steam come from your ears.’ Benedict avoided the hit that Daphne sent in his direction, Colin managing to hide his smile as he watched his siblings interact.

‘Before the dance on Friday, might we ride out to the meadows?’ Usually, when Daphne requested some time with them, it was because she had something she wanted to tell them. Like the truth about Martha and Thomas, the people that so clearly haunted her, or what happened with Berbrooke.

‘I have nothing planned.’ Anthony stated, where he was lying back on the grass with his eyes shut, hands folded atop of his chest.

‘Nor do I.’ Simon answered his wife, looking down at where she was leaning against him.

‘Colin? Benedict?’

‘I would be honoured.’ Benedict remarked, fingers twitching by his side like he longed for his sketchbook. Honestly, Colin wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t just _tell_ Anthony, it wasn’t like the eldest could do anything. Not with Daphne and Simon’s obvious approval, in the form of the artwork he’d caught sight of in her room.

‘I suppose I could spare the time.’ Colin teased, if only to watch Daphne roll her eyes fondly.

Was it wrong, to enjoy the time she was spending with them? To see how close they had all become, as a group, since she had returned to the Bridgerton household? Gone were the worries of her status, or scandal, replaced with a desire to see them all happy.

‘I shall pack a picnic.’ She informed them, looking up at the sky, unburdened.


	10. The Final Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Bridgerton Squad's closing chapter

The week had passed in a blur, the time spent between her siblings, husband and Mother, occasionally venturing out to the safety of the meadows for a walk. Always accompanied, usually by Rose or Simon, or her brothers. With no more word from Whistledown, save for her theories of scandal for the tonight’s event, Daphne concluded that it could not be Genevieve Delacroix. It did not fit her pattern, nor her knowledge, to divulge such information.

‘Another strawberry?’ She opened her mouth, let Simon feed her another of the sweet treats, ignoring the gagging sound that Colin made.

‘Should we be expecting any surprises with your outfit tonight, sister?’ Anthony was the one that had changed the most, since her return. Especially in the past week, with more tact and care than he ever had before, a softness that she was enjoying.

‘Nothing above the norm.’ She returned the easy jollity between them, before her eyes turned to Benedict.

‘Will you be sneaking off?’

‘Me? Never.’ He placed a hand over his heart, acting mock-offended despite the wink that he shot her.

‘Are you excited for your journey?’ Simon asked Colin, the youngest man perking up at the mention of his escape from the Bridgerton household.

Daphne could not help but feel slightly downcast, knowing that everything would change tomorrow. She would lose the security of having her family close to her, would not see them all for a while. Francesca would stay, but Eloise would leave to Westminster, and Colin would be going to Greece. Benedict and Anthony had planned a journey to some distant cousins up North, and Daphne was returning to Clyvedon with Simon.

‘I cannot wait. I have so many things to see, a list of places to go,’

‘And presents to buy.’ Daphne’s heart lifted at the smile she received, the twinkle in Colin’s eyes as he laughed.

‘Only the best for a Duchess.’ She took another grape from the stalk she’d snatched from Simon, let the sunshine and chatter wash over her as she leaned back into her husband’s lap.

They’d been sleeping together once again, sharing a bed despite her night terrors. Last night, for the first in a while, Daphne had not been plagued by the thoughts of Berbrooke or his men, nor Martha and her son. She had woken up in Simon’s arms, curled against his chest like they had after they first married.

‘I suppose I should use this event as a way to find Penn, I haven’t spoken to her since she warned me of Miss Thompson.’ Daphne startled slightly, looking over to Colin, who was already engaging in a debate with Anthony about how many woman it would be appropriate to dance with.

Penelope had tried to advise Colin _against_ Miss Thompson?

She thought for a moment about the youngest of the Featherington girls, the one that she knew the best. Eloise had always been close to her, shared everything, and…

Daphne swallowed down yet another grape, musing over her thoughts quietly.

‘I suppose you have drawn us out of the watchful eyes of the household for a reason.’ She changed her mind, Anthony was still as blunt as always. The change in conversation snapped her from her mind, instead sitting up to look at Anthony. Their brothers scowled, Simon’s scoffing at the eldest Bridgerton, while all she could do was fondly smile at him.

‘I see that you finally inherited the mind of the family, brother.’ Benedict’s joke was more to offer her a way out of this situation, but she didn’t need it.

‘I wanted to give you all the chance to reject my attendance to tonight’s event as a Bridgerton, should you see fit.’ The words tasted foul, worse than the tea Anthony had given her, stuck in her throat as she forced them past her lips.

‘Daphne, you are our sister,’

‘My wife.’ Simon remarked, fingers threading through hers,

‘And nothing will change that.’ It was the same assurance as the other times, but Daphne knew that this was different. What she was asking them to do was not to obscure the truth, but to lie.

‘I killed Nigel Berbrooke.’

She had imagined saying those words for a while, thought about the way her expression might change as she thought to the moment she’d committed the worst of crimes.

Strangely, she did not feel afraid. There was no terror, no guilt, just a simply resounding pride that came with knowing she had sought revenge for her companions.

‘The morning that I woke, Berbrooke seemed to be comprehending his actions. When I found Thomas, I suppose my sound snapped him from his contemplation.’ The dark room, Daphne kneeling as she pulled Thomas up to her chest, uncaring that the manacles broke her skin as she tried to keep the boy close.

Nigel had been slumped against the wall, blood covering his hands and shirt, eyes focused on Martha like he truly had not realised what he had done.

‘When he focused on me, it was to accuse me of forcing him to such an action.’

_‘You… You made me do this! Everything was fine, before you came along to ruin it!’_

‘I thought he intended to kill me, I was pinned down to the stone with a hand around my neck,’ She recalled choking, gasping in for air and, for some reason, begging for her brothers to find her, or Simon.

‘Anyway, he turned me onto my stomach. I thought I was going to die, or worse,’ She halted, recalling hands gripping at her while she tried to get to Martha, ‘I looked to Thomas, and noticed the knife that he’d used.’

A knife that was still stained with blood.

‘The angle was awkward, I was not intending to _kill_ him, yet…’ She’d stabbed backwards, twisting her arm and hearing a sickening sound as the blade hit home.

‘Should you decide to inform the Inspector…’

‘It stays between us.’ Anthony cut in, quicker than she could ever expect, staring right at her. No hesitancy, in fact, he looked…

‘You’re smiling.’ She stated, tilting her head to the side.

‘I do not mean to offend,’ Benedict and Colin were both sending warning glances at Anthony, which he ignored, ‘But I would have killed him myself if you had not.’

‘Why?’ She questioned, confused. Murder, that was what she had just admitted to, and Anthony wasn’t angry. He wasn’t lecturing her, or calling for the Inspector, he was just staring at her like she was supposed to understand.

‘He hurt you. For daring to lay a hand on you, I’d have challenged him. I _shot at_ Hastings because I was trying to keep you safe.’

Simon squeezed her hand, but when she looked to him, his expression mirrored Anthony’s.

‘Murder is…’

‘Far too kind, for what he deserved.’ Benedict took her other hand, and with that, Daphne realised that they were serious.

That, even after tonight, they would always be the Bridgerton family.

**

‘Are you not going to tell her?’ Benedict asked, standing outside the door to Daphne’s room while they waited for her to dress.

‘It will be a surprise.’ Colin countered, a point that was entirely valid.

‘You are always welcome at Clyvedon, for the festivities.’ Anthony and Simon were down the corridor slightly, but clearly listening in, despite the fact that they were deep in conversation. They had been, ever since Daphne admitted to killing Berbrooke.

Benedict wished he’d had the honour of doing it himself.

‘You all look rather dapper.’ Eloise walked with a new sense of confidence, perhaps inspired by the fact she was travelling to Westminster, to become the first woman to ever attempt such a feat.

‘I suppose you don’t look awful.’ Benedict shot back, studying the dress that Genevieve had designed, with Daphne’s input.

It was the traditional Bridgerton colours, a light blue gown, with white gloves and her hair pinned, but it was the corset _on top_ of the dress that he lingered on. Daring, very daring, and he could already tell they would look quite the sight walking into the event.

‘Excited for your first event, sister?’ Since the announcement that she could continue her studies, Eloise and Anthony had come to some sort of mutual agreement, a respect between them that surprised Benedict.

She rolled her eyes, nodding to Daphne’s door.

‘Excited to see the Ton respond to our darling sister’s outfit.’

The door opened at that moment, and Benedict realised what Eloise had meant, with her knowing tone.

Daphne’s breeches were a dark blue fabric, fastened at the waist by the corset she was wearing, over a white shirt hemmed with lace. It was long-sleeved, but the buttons at the wrists had yet to be done up.

‘Might I ask for some assistance?’ She offered out one arm, and Benedict offered before Colin could, noting that the bandages under her shirt were gone. In their place, faint red marks, fading into her pale complexion.

‘Mother might faint.’ Anthony and Simon stepped forward, the Duke offering out the brightest of smiles to his wife.

Daphne returned it, before thanking Benedict, looking to Eloise.

‘Are we all ready?’ She questioned, taking control even now.

‘Together.’ Eloise replied, taking Daphne’s hand.

**

They did not walk in as pairs, for this event. Violet, with a smile and a kiss pressed to Eloise’s head, had excused herself to find Lady Danbury, probably to inform the woman that they were about to walk into the final event as quite the group.

Daphne took Simon’s arm, drawing comfort from the touch, before slipping her free hand through Anthony’s offered elbow. Behind her, she knew that Eloise would be doing the same with Benedict and Colin, the six of them united against the whispers that would start as soon as the Ton saw them.

‘This is quite terrifying.’ She admitted, murmuring quietly as they moved towards the laughter and music, the bright lights of the events hall.

‘Let us give Lady Whistledown something to write about.’ Anthony remarked, already in his protective mode, narrowing his gaze at a passing Lord who was already stumbling from the party. He paused, staring at Daphne’s legs like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, before Anthony brushed him aside.

The music provided something to concentrate on, a guidance that led her through the crowds, already staring in complete shock as they moved towards the centre. She spotted Cressida, standing by her Mother’s side, looking at Daphne’s breeches like she might swoon.

‘Bridgertons. Hastings.’ Daphne’s nerves faded at Lady Danbury’s smirk, inclining her head to the woman.

‘Lady Danbury, thank you for all that you’ve done over the past weeks, and for aiding my Mama during my absence.’ She was more than surprised when the woman let one hand move from her cane, to take Daphne’s from Simon.

‘I am just glad to see such a sight at the final event of the season, your Grace.’ Lady Danbury paused, then leaned in,

‘You must tell the Modiste she has outdone herself.’ Daphne was happy that she had Simon’s mother-figure’s approval, inclined her head yet again.

‘Perhaps we should do our rounds?’ Daphne followed her brother and husband through the crowds, noted that most eyes were either on her or Eloise.

‘I hate this already.’ Her sister grumbled, as Anthony procured two drinks for them.

‘Just think of Westminster.’ That cheered her up, draining her drink rather quickly though, amusing Daphne.

‘One of you better ask me to dance, so I need not do so with a stranger.’ She wrinkled her nose up, frowning at the men hovering around them with distaste, Daphne snorting into her own glass and almost hiccupping on the drink.

‘I would be honoured for your hand, Miss Bridgerton.’ Simon offered an arm, flashing Daphne his handsome smile, before Eloise was guided off towards the floor.

‘Can I escape yet?’ Benedict murmured into her ear, causing her to yet again make the most undignified sound.

‘You need only wait for the Queen…’

‘Speaking of.’ Anthony cleared his throat, straightening his back as the music picked up yet again, Daphne’s eyes moving to her Majesty as she moved into the room.

Daphne froze, unable to take her eyes off of the Queen as she glided through the crowds, reaching the group in what seemed like a mere moment. Anthony was bowing low, as were Colin and Benedict, but Daphne needed just a moment longer to remember how to breathe.

‘Your Majesty.’ Anthony’s words snapped her from it, and she copied her brother’s actions of bowing, rather than curtseying.

‘Lady Hastings, your guard dogs are back by your heel, I see.’ Her eyes drifted to her brothers, before looking back at her as she rose up.

The Queen’s dress was extravagant, as usual, but it was the corset that her eyes lingered on. The tight strings, the framing shape that both her and Eloise were sporting, on top of the fabric they wore underneath.

‘One can never diminish the value of family, your Majesty.’ She murmured, trying to convey how thankful she was for the woman’s support.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, but from the quirk of her lips, she was more amused than anything else.

‘I suppose one can expect a strangely lucrative arrival in the docks, say by next week?’ The test she’d been expecting, keeping her face impassive as she returned the secretive knowledge that they shared.

‘One could never aim to predict such things, not even Whistledown.’ The Queen was pleased by the compliment, the hidden knowledge that they did indeed know more than the gossip-monger.

With another look, the Queen was moving on, leaving Daphne to bow once more.

‘You are quite the leader, dear sister.’ Anthony whispered quietly, eyes flitting between Eloise and her, like he would aim to keep them both in his sights.

For once, she did not mind such a thing.

**

‘I must warn her! If Whistledown is caught, then that is one more woman who is not…’ Eloise rambled, chest rising and falling rather rapidly as she tried to explain what Humboldt had told her about the Queen’s plans.

‘Fear not, sister. Benedict snuck out earlier to spend the evening with Delacroix, she will not be at the publisher.’ It was strange, how protective Eloise had become over Whistledown, and Daphne wondered how she would feel if she knew…

‘That is quite splendid, but perhaps we could leave just to check?’ She was trying to retire early, perfectly acceptable considering she had danced with Simon, and all three of their brothers, before Benedict creeped out. 

Daphne had limited her dancing to just Simon and Anthony, mostly because Colin had gone to tell Penn of his intentions to leave for Greece.

‘Tell Anthony that we shall be leaving shortly, I just need a moment.’ Eloise shot her a thankful smile, moving off through the crowds, unaware of the eyes that lingered on her. No, not unaware, for she turned and scowled at one man that dared to look at her chest.

Daphne moved through the crowds, excusing herself from conversations, slipping into the shadows and moving to the back-exit of the hall, waiting patiently.

She did not need to wait long.

‘Excuse me…’

‘Your Grace!’ Penelope jumped, eyes watery and clearly wanting to flee, but Daphne only needed a moment.

‘Should anyone be thinking of travelling towards the western edge of the city, say towards a certain printing company, they should take note of the Queen’s patrol laying in wait. An attempt to catch the elusive Whistledown, no doubt.’ Daphne sipped the drink in her hand, but met Penelope’s shocked gaze, before the woman schooled her expression.

‘The price of such information?’

‘Oh, I have no motive. Whoever Whistledown might be, I only hope she continues to be as intriguing next season.’ With that, Daphne smiled, bowing her head to the woman and moving back towards the safety of her family.

‘What took you so long, sister?’ Anthony’s arm slung around her shoulder, Colin already buzzing and Eloise exhausted, while Simon helped her up into the Carriage.

‘Just savouring the moment.’

Her not-so perfect family, but she would not change them for all the world.

**

**_Epilogue:_ **

_With the final event of the season complete, it is the time for the Ton to retreat to their hidden lives, the places of scandal and secrets._

‘I shall see you for the festivities! It is not so long, brother.’ Anthony frowned, but hugged her tighter, not saying anything in response.

_No doubt Madame Delacroix shall be quite busy, upon her return from her family, with the knowledge that the Ton wish to adopt the Lady Hasting’s daring dress-style._

‘Stay safe.’ Daphne mumbled, tears staining Colin’s shirt as he kissed her forehead.

‘I will be back before you notice I am gone.’ She choked on a laugh, stepping back and watching as he mounted his horse, clicking his tongue with a wave to the gathered Bridgertons.

_If there is one thing I can impart, it is the knowledge that next season proves to be just as exciting as the ending of this one. The Bridgerton family prove to be the centre of gossip, second only to her Majesty’s whispered words to Lady Hastings at the Dance. If anyone can uncover such truths, it shall be this author._

’I shall miss you all dearly.’ Eloise hugged Daphne one last time, before moving to the Carriage, Violet joining her to help her settle.

‘She shall be fine.’ Simon murmured, keeping a hand on the small of her back to save her from wobbling.

_This Author was made aware of a plot to uncover her. Rest assured, dear reader, this author has no intention of allowing anyone to dictate her reveal._

_Perhaps I will come forward one day, but that decision shall be left entirely up to me._

_Yours truly,_

_Lady Whistledown._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and for the love you've shown this fic! :)


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